


The Light Between Us

by daughterofthesky



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 3RACHA, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Best Friends, Boyfriends, Break Up, Cheesy, Cliche, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, First Dates, First Love, Friends to Lovers, Guilt, Heartache, Heartbreak, Heartbreaking, Heavy Angst, Late Night Conversations, Letters, Love, Love at First Sight, M/M, Memories, Memory Alteration, Memory Related, Mental Instability, Metaphors, Moving On, Pain, Past Relationship(s), Photographs, Photography, Pictures, Post-Break Up, Recovered Memories, Relationship Problems, Relationship(s), Repressed Memories, Sad, Song Lyrics, Songwriting, True Love, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-14 07:10:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14764991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daughterofthesky/pseuds/daughterofthesky
Summary: After Han Jisung erased Lee Minho from his memory, he finds a box containing a million pictures of him, and throughout each one of them he unfolds their love story, from the beginning to their tragic end."What is this?" He asks."A picture of you," I say. "I'll take one everyday I'm in love with you." Minho doesn't know I took a million pictures of him already.He smiles, and for the first time I know everything's going to be alright. But nothing lasts forever: the memory faded in an instant.





	1. Hiraeth

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [10 polaroids on how to take care of Lee Minho: to his future boyfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/383981) by Lise. 



> **IMPORTANT:** The notes at the end of the chapters will contain the trigger warnings, which will contain spoilers. If you are easily triggered – or just triggered by certain sensitive topics – I recommend you read the notes first before reading the chapter, regardless of the spoilers.  
>  **ALSO IMPORTANT:** There are a few things I have to say about this AU which should be considered before/while reading it. First of all, even though the characters are real human people, they've been fictionalized. This is purely a work of fiction. Second, English is not my first language, therefore grammar mistakes may appear; I'm not perfect. Also, this is my first AU on ao3 and I would really appreciate the feedback, please if you like this work comment or leave a kudo, thank you!  
>  PS: You'll see, as you keep on reading the au, that there is a lot of dialogue. This is because I'm actually much better at writing it and that my descriptions suck. I do try my best though.
> 
> I want to dedicate this small piece of my heart to certain people who inspired me to write it, and I know it's not that deep but it's never wrong to thank people and show them you're grateful. First and foremost, I should probably thank Lise for writing her au which inspired me, and for letting me share mine. Lys, who helped me with a lot of things and was always there to give me advice, it's dedicated to you too. I also want to dedicate it to Artemis, whose personality helped me shape Minho's, and who inspired my favourite Minsung memory, I love you all. Thank you!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiraeth: A homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is like an introduction of the characters and Jisung's whole situation. I will come back and improve it.  
> Please, remember that it's very cheesy and cliché at first but I swear it gets better.  
> NO TRIGGER WARNINGS

Jisung didn’t feel like the day he had been waiting for a whole month was finally here. He had woken up like every other morning in the same bed in the same room in the same hospital he had been admitted to. He had had the same breakfast he always had every day: a red shiny apple, some organic cereal he came to like with time and an orange juice. His mom had come to visit him like every other day for the past month, and even that day she didn’t tell him the news. His friends, Chan, Changbin and Felix had visited him too but no one dared to tell him the news of his release. Only after the doctor came into his room in the middle of that same afternoon he found out, and a beaming smile curved on his face: he was finally free. Jisung had patiently waited for this day to come for the whole past month, and he couldn’t wait to start writing songs again with his friends and return to the one thing that always brought him joy: photography. He couldn’t remember the last time he took a picture, the last time he held his polaroid camera in his hands and shook a picture, waiting for it to be revealed.  
The one thing everyone had been surprised about – and no one had understood – was the fact that Jisung had taken in the news of his reasons why he was in the hospital so calmly and acceptedly. When his doctor had come in one day after the whole process of erasing his memory, he had explained what had just happened to him and Jisung hadn’t even flinch. “We have erased part of your memory upon your wishes. Everything that we’ve done to you was requested by yourself. Don’t worry, no crucial information, such as your family and friends, has been deleted from your long-time memory,” were the words the doctor had used. The only thing Jisung had done was nod. It had been as if a part of himself had accepted the fact that his memory had to be erased; as if an unconscious part of his brain already had known this. Of course he had wanted to know why he had deleted something – or _someone _– from his memory, but it was not the place nor the time. He would figure it out eventually, and find out why it happened, why he did this to himself. So he had just nodded.__  
The ride back home with his mom was pleasant. Even though neither of them spoke, it wasn’t an awkward atmosphere, music filled itself where words could never: there was simply just nothing to say. It was peaceful. Jisung leaned against the window of the passenger’s seat, watching how the tall buildings gradually turned into smaller houses and how the sun slowly hid itself from the sky and his view. He wanted to take a picture of the sky and its beautiful colors, that reddish and orange-pink cloudless sky, but he didn’t have his polaroid camera with him, which he regretted profoundly. Jisung’s body felt paralyzed: he was exhausted. He was not hurt, not in pain, but he didn’t want to move an inch.  
When he was finally home, something didn’t seem right. He had only been gone for a month but it somehow felt like years, like an eternity. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been in his room, the last time he had slept in his bed.  
He spent the rest of what was left of the afternoon reorganizing his room. His room didn't feel like his; there was an opaque feeling inside of him. He wondered what had happened that made him lose that feeling of home. He wondered if he would ever feel it again.  
When the night finally came, he went right to sleep. He didn't eat dinner with his family, no matter how hard her mother had tried to convince him. Jisung's body was drained, _weak _. "He just needs some time to get used to it, let's leave him alone for now. He needs space," were the words his mother used to explain to his father why he wouldn't be eating dinner with them. He couldn't look at the disappointment in his father's face through the door of his bedroom, but he knew it was there. It had_ always_ been there, ever since he confessed to his parents about not wanting to go to college and wanting to be a songwriter. Now, at 21, he was happily writing music with Chan and Changbin, and he was proud of it, of their two mixtapes. He had always hated feeling like a disappointment, but he had chosen not to live his life string-attached to his parents idea of a respectable, good son; he knew it wouldn't make him happy.  
Jisung woke up in the middle of the night; he felt as if he was having a heart attack, and he wanted to throw up. He had a perforating pain in the stomach, and he was sweating uncontrollably; his mouth, dry. His head hurt and spinned and he couldn't understand what was happening to him. He took his hand to his chest and heavy breathed, and then glanced at the clock on his nightstand: 2:18 am. He stood up immediately, hand still on his heart, and shuffled to the bathroom. He opened the door in a rush, and thudded onto the floor. The surface of it was icy cold, and Jisung felt as if he was lying on a block of ice. He whined in pain, but _no one could hear him._

The next day, Jisung woke up to the sound of heavy rain, still on the bathroom floor, surrounded by his drool and sweat. He carefully stood up, but felt much better than the night before. He still had a headache, but his chest pain was completely gone, it had _vanished_. When he was already up on both his feet, he lumbered to the kitchen: there was nobody home. He figured both of his parents were at work. Jisung picked up his phone from the counter – where he had left it the day before – and checked the time; 3 pm. He had a voice message.

"Hey, it's Chan. I heard you're out of the hospital. I'm glad the whole thing worked out. Wanna hang out? We really want to see you. You know where to find us."

Jisung grabbed the first raincoat he could find and went out. His skin tightened as the March rain poured in around him, almost soaking him completely despite the coat, but he wasn't troubled by the rain. He walked unhurriedly, steady, striding his way through the puddles. He took a 4419 bus, the one he always used to carry himself around, and walked three more blocks until he got there.  
Chan and Changbin lived together in a small apartment. It was always messy, clothes on the floor here and there, and it always had an odd smell of dirt, sweat and burnt food but Jisung didn't mind. He was used to it already, after spending countless years going to their place and writing music there - because that's where the magic happened - right in their apartment. It had always felt like a second home to him, but that feeling was gone. He knew as soon as he stepped into the room that something had changed, not about the room itself, but inside of him. His feeling of home had died out.  
"Quite a nice mess you have in here," he couldn't help but say, standing on the threshold of their apartment. He looked around the place once more, his eyes drifting from the ceiling, to the kitchen and back to the living room again, where his friend Changbin waited for him. Jisung hanged his drenched raincoat and sat down on their filthy couch, making himself comfortable.  
"It's been a long time since you were last here," Chan explained, closing the door and sitting down next to him.  
"I know," Jisung said. He wanted to know how long, but decided against it. His eyes still wandered around the room: everything was the just as he remembered, but _different._  
They spent the afternoon catching up, Jisung asking them how they had been this past month and if they had written any new music without him. He had forced himself not to ask them about why he erased part of his memory, he knew they wouldn't answer him. Besides, he erased it for a reason. He tried not to think too much about it, but he had found himself thinking about it all the time. It was like a virus: at first he didn't think much of it but now it was all he could think about. It had infected his mind, and he was still on the lookout for a cure.  
"He's not the Jisung we once knew," he heard Changbin mutter before he closed the door behind him and walked home.

He arrived home in time for dinner, and he knew this time he had no escaping the dreadful dinner with his parents. Being an only child, the questions were always darted directly at him, and he couldn't dodge them. He knew his father like the palm of his hand: he knew his way around his mind, his dull thoughts, his questions to him. His father had only visited him once at the hospital, right after the whole process. Jisung knew why he had gone to see him: he wanted to check if he still remembered his father. Of course he did. Facing him had always been a nightmare when he was a kid, he used to be afraid of the power he had. _Not anymore _, he had said to himself several times growing up,_ I'm not afraid anymore._  
"He will be so glad to see you," his mother said before they sat for dinner, "After all this time, we're together again."  
He wasn't exactly sure what she meant, because it had only been a month, but he didn't pay much attention to it.  
Dinner went smoother than he thought. He answered all of his father's questions - which had been less than five - but his eyes never left his food plate. He made eye contact with neither of them, but he was sure his mother didn't mind: Jisung bet she was just grateful for his presence in the house, to say the least, for dinner itself. When it was over, he picked up his plate with one hand and his glass with the other, and carried them to the kitchen, where they would be washed by his mother. He would've cleaned them himself but it involved further conversation he was not yet ready to engage.  
Once he was back in his room, he finished reorganizing the last few things he had not been able to put away the day before. He still had clothes where they shouldn't be and he couldn't understand why; it wasn't like he had taken all his clothes to the hospital, so why weren't them in their right place? He took his hoodies off the drawers and hanged them on the wardrobe, but when he opened it, - to his surprise - he found something _peculiar _: lying on his dark brown wooden wardrobe floor, below his coats and hoodies and sweaters and shirts he rarely used, behind his polished black formal shoes, there was a box. A faded light brown box laid untouched. He had the urge to pick it up and open it, see what was inside - because he certainly couldn't remember no matter how hard he tried - but decided not to. Without being able to take the mysterious box out of his head, Jisung went to sleep, hoping that what had happened the day before wouldn't happen again.__

He was wrong. Jisung woke up in the middle of the night, again. He had an unbearable pain in his chest, like a thousand knives being stabbed into his heart. He couldn't breathe; he felt as if he was drowning and he was slowly dying, his life slipping away the harder he gasped for air. Tears rolled down his cheeks onto his neck. Once again, he couldn't understand what was wrong. Were these side effects of his erased memory?, he wondered, exasperated. He took his hand to his heart, listened to his heartbeat - which was fortunately still there - and heavy breathed: it sounded heartbroken, empty. It felt as if his heart was waiting for something, or _someone _, that was never going to come. He panted, uneasy. Jisung knew he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep all night. He glanced at his nightstand clock: 2:47 am, and stood up as quick as lightning, as if his bed were on fire and he was being burned alive. He put on his robe and quietly tiptoed to the kitchen, as not to wake his parents up, for a glass of water in hopes of calming his heart down and catching his breath.__  
Just after he returned to his room with the glass of water, he remembered the brown box he had found in his wardrobe. He couldn't help but ask himself what was inside, why it was hiding itself from him. He tried to fight the urge to open it but failed; he turned on his nightstand lamp, put down his glass next to it and went for the box. It was heavier than it looked, covered in dust and larger; he used both of his hands to drag it out.  
There was a small piece of paper on top of the dirty lid he failed to notice before. He snatched the folded paper enthusiastically and opened it in the blink of an eye. The first thing he noticed was the handwriting: it was his own. His messy calligraphy was the star of the script. Jisung couldn't remember writing it. He read it carefully:

 _Dear me,_  
_If you're reading this it must mean you got your memory erased. Wise choice, I'm proud of you - of us, actually. You're probably curious about what you deleted from your memory and, more importantly, why. No one will be able to explain it to you better than me, than yourself. By now you must be feeling odd, out of place, empty, lonely probably, I don't know. There is something out there, some piece of information everyone - including me, your past self - is hiding from you, information you're missing out. Before I tell you anything, you need to know I did this - the whole "let's get my memory erased" thing - because of our own good, I did this for both of us, and what was best for our heart. What you're about to dig into will be a joyful and painful journey of rediscovery, of finding out how your past self was. Sure, you're probably thinking you remember your old self, but let me tell you, you're wrong; you still don't know what I do. I know I can't stop myself from looking inside this box and what you, future self, want to find out so badly. So go ahead, dive right into your forgotten past, no one will stop you._  
_It was not something, it was someone. His name was Lee Minho, and he was our beginning and our end, and this is our love story..._

That name sounded somehow familiar; something in the back of his mind tingled and he immediately remembered someone with that name from school. Dance team, senior. His face came to his mind like a gust of cold wind: baby soft skin, hazel brown hair, a calming smile. Jisung couldn't remember anything else, he was absolutely sure he never met this man, that he never had a conversation with him.  
He peeked inside the box excitedly. As soon as he lifted the dusty lid off, never-ending piles of pictures flooded out of the box, spreading all over his bedroom floor like a wave. So many letters, so many doodled hearts, _so _many lost memories.__  
Jisung noticed that the pictures were numbered and that he would have to follow a pre-established order, as if he was following an invisible timeline. He was amazed by the carefully carried out plan his past self had done for him, and he couldn't wait to uncover the hidden secrets his partially erased mind hid from him.  
He delightedly picked up the first polaroid and goggled at the picture in his hands: he recognized his school, the ugly cafeteria tables and the poorly painted walls, but what really caught his attention was that a few tables in front of him, a brown haired boy was eating his food peacefully. It was not just any boy, it was Lee Minho. He stared at the picture for a long time before turning it around, and to his surprise, the polaroid had a title, still with his poor handwriting; _The day my eyes met yours._ Inexplicably, he could remember that day as if had happened yesterday.

* * *

_The day my eyes met yours_

"I'm having a heart attack," I say as soon as I notice a new guy a few tables in front of me, talking to some other guy I don't know. "Is this love I'm feeling?"  
"You don't even know the guy," Changbin says, discreetedly turning around to take a better look at him. He sighs, turning back at me and rolling his eyes.  
"Not yet, but I will."  
"I don't know what Chan would say if he were still here." I know Changbin misses Chan, but he graduated and now it's out turn to graduate.  
"I bet he's a senior," I say, completely ignoring my friend and without taking my eyes off the stranger. He looks older than both of us. I need to take a picture of him, _I will _take a sneaky picture of the owner of my heart,_ yes._  
I take out my camera off my backpack in the blink of an eye, but before I can snap the first picture, Changbin hisses at me.  
"Oh my God, Jisung," he stares at the camera in my hands. "Put that away now, are you a stalker? Stop looking at that guy for Christ's sake!"  
"Relax," I say, snapping the first picture. "I just want to take a few pictures." I keep on snapping pictures, trying to dodge Changbin out of sight. He tries to get in my way and block my sight but he continuously fails. I giggle in satisfaction.  
"I think you took enough already," he says, now trying to take the camera away from me. "Gimme the camera, that's enough!"  
"A few more and I'm done, I swear." I want to capture the aura this mysterious guy projects. I want to capture how the sunlight hits his eye with such softness, how he doesn't look annoyed by it. How his eyes look peaceful yet understanding and rebellious. For a moment, he looks like he's full of rage. I snap another picture with caution. To me, the history and persona of a human can be discovered through the lens of a camera, of a single picture, and this guy has a lot going on in his mind. Not just by the way his eyes drift all the time and his attention spam is long, but because he is calm. Calm yet his eyes reveal something else: accumulated anger. I want to find out where it comes from, and why he bottles it away so flawlessly. What is he hiding? I bet he thinks no one notices, but _I'm not like most people._ The eyes of a person are the eyes to the soul.  
"That's it," Changbin says, snatching the camera away from me. I got distracted for a single minute and I already lost my camera to my friend. _Shame on me, _I should've held it tighter.  
__

* * *

Jisung dropped the picture, astonished. He remembered how falling in love with Lee Minho felt like; he remembered it had felt like the stars aligned for him and that he had finally found the missing piece of himself. He had known, right at that moment when he first stared at him, that Minho was going to be the one to kill off his feelings of loneliness, that he would complete his heart. Jisung had found a home, a place he wouldn't lose but, in the end, _he did lose it._  
The butterflies he didn't know he had inside woke up after a long hibernation, and were now flying around his body. He wanted to throw up wings and antennas; the butterflies were attacking him, tickling his stomach. His heart pumped out wings of all different colors and suddenly his blood turned rosy pink; he was in love - well, his body was in love. He wasn't sure what he was in love with, if he was in love with Minho, or the idea of him or his memory. Jisung recognized this feeling, he knew he had felt this way before, many years ago when he first saw Minho. He was amazed he remembered, and felt a strange feeling of home. Lee Minho had formed a home inside of him he had failed to identify. He smiled, relieved; he was, once again, _alive._  
He wanted more; he picked up the next polaroid, waiting for the picture to trigger another lost memory. And it did.

* * *

_The day I met your soul_

"I know detention is not going to last forever but we can take advantage of this time and get to know each other. What do you think?" I say, approaching the hazel haired boy and sitting down next to him. There is no one inside the classroom except us two.  
He looks at me, turning his head to the left. "Sure," he nods shyly. "I've been wanting to meet you too."  
I make a weird face. "How do you know about me?"  
"I just saw you hanging out with Changbin the other day. You two seem to be really good friends."  
"He's my best friend," I say, leaning forward. "How do you know about him?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.  
He looks away, embarrassed. "He looks intimidating."  
"He's not," I say bluntly, "He just wants to be seen that way. I'll tell him he's making a hella good job," I raise both thumbs up, cheerfully. "Anyways, there are some things I wanted to ask you."  
He giggles, nervously. "Sure, but I still don't know your name."  
My face burns, I turn red in embarrassment. "I'm Han Jisung."  
He smiles. "I'm Lee Minho, nice to meet you," he says, and we shake hands. His skin is soft, like a feather. They're relatively small, too.  
"Now that we introduced ourselves, let's go on."  
"Fire away," he says, grinning.  
I roll up my sleeves. "First of all, why are you here? You don't strike me as the typical bad boy," I say, checking him out. Of course I used this excuse to look at him more closely, and make sure he's just as good looking as I first saw him, three days ago. He is.  
At first, he hesitates, but replies, "I took the blame for someone."  
"Aren't you a new kid?" I blurt out, and cover my mouth immediately. That was mean of me. I want to apologize, but instead I say I admire him, and that he's brave. He smirks.  
"What about you?" he asks.  
I lean backwards, putting both my hands behind my head. "I've been skipping a few classes here and there, nothing serious. Also, my grades are extremely low."  
He breathes out a laugh. "I could help you with that, I'm actually quite a nerd." We burst into laughter, and I notice a cute little dimple on his left cheek.  
"I would love your help, thanks."  
He spits a question he has been wanting to say for a while now. "What are your hobbies?"  
I peek at him with the corner of my eye. "I make music with my friends."  
He gasps, "With Changbin?"  
I nod. "Yes, and another friend, Chan. We're 3Racha, like the sauce."  
He chuckles, "That's a queer name."  
"You need to get to know our stage names, they're even queerer," I say, grinning. Minho's eyes gleam in amazement.  
"What's your stage name?"  
"J.one," I say, proudly. I'm very fond of my stage name.  
"J.one? That makes you sound badass."  
"Whoever told you I'm not badass?" I snap quickly, a smile between my lips.  
He cackles, covering his stomach with both of his arms, closing his eyes.  
Before I can tell him anything else, a teacher comes through the door, killing what is left of the conversation off.

* * *

Jisung wiped a tear off his face. He wanted to go back in time and prevent himself from erasing his memory: Minho was lovely, he couldn't understand what went wrong. He knew he didn't know the rest of the story, and Minho was practically still a stranger to him. Sure, he could remember a few things here and there, where they first met and their first conversation, but it didn't guarantee anything: his memory was still gone.  
He picked up both polaroids and compared them: he looked exactly the same. His aura was peaceful and calm and everything about him looked intriguing. He wanted to find out more about him, he was sure that deep inside in his brain he had stored all of his memories about Minho, and that they hadn't been erased but instead _locked away._ And he didn't have the key nor password. _Not yet._  
He instinctively turned them around and noticed something he didn't notice the first time: dates. The polaroids had been not only titled but also dated. Both pictures were almost six years old, and he gasped at the realization that it had been a long time since he first met Minho. Jisung wasn't sure about anything anymore, he was lost between remembering memories he chose to erase for unknown reasons and what was actually real. He felt he was losing sight of what was there and what was not. Minho was not there, but the pictures were definitely real. The memories were real. His feelings? He still wasn't sure where they came from, they were a question with no answer. Nothing had an answer anymore, and the harder he buried himself into answers, more questions arose.  
The date on the first polaroid was "year 1 month 1 day 1" which he deducted was the beginning of something. Jisung still wasn't sure of what, like pretty much everything so far, he had questions unanswered. The second polaroid's date was "year 1 month 1 day 3" which made no sense to him, but it did help him figure out that the polaroids were indeed in the correct order.  
Jisung wondered if there was, somewhere in between the whole ocean of pictures he had on his bedroom floor, a picture of the two of them. "I will find it out sooner or later," he mentally answered himself. When he picked up the next polaroid, unlike the previous ones, he spotted a crumpled paper loosely attached to the back of it. The paper looked kind of old; he figured it must've been from the very beginning as well. He opened it slowly, carefully, tracing the scars on the paper. It had small, untidy pink hearts all over, and even though it didn't have anything written down, he somehow knew it was a message for Minho, one that came solely from the heart: an unhearable I love you.

* * *

_The day I met your mind (year 1 month 1 day 14)_

"So you live alone, why?" I ask, throwing the books and the school supplies over the hard marble kitchen table. Minho's apartment is small but cozy, and it only has two doors: the front door and the bathroom's.  
"Family problems," he mumbles hurriedly, "You don't wanna know about it."  
"Oh, but I do," I say, sliding the books aside, folding my arms on the table. He has my full attention.  
He hesitates, biting his lower lip. He takes a chair out and sits down in front of me, interlocking his hands on the table.  
_So that is where the accumulated anger comes from. Bingo!_  
"They have a different lifestyle. They're old-fashioned and they always criticize everything. They used to criticize my grades, my friends, my girlfriends.."  
I cut him off. "Girlfriends?"  
"Don't worry," he says, leaning backwards and stretching his arms. "It was just to impress them. To make them satisfied. I never felt anything for any of them."  
I sigh, _what a relief. _He gazes at me, I bet he's trying to figure out what I'm thinking about. He looks like he has an answer.__  
"Why did you ask me about my girlfriends?" he questions, raising a suspicious eyebrow and flashing a malicious grin.  
"Forget it," I say, picking up a pen and opening a book as fast as lightning. "Let's start, tutor."

* * *

Jisung woke up on the floor the next day, surrounded by the polaroids that triggered memories he regretted erasing from his brain. He squinted at the sun coming through his window and lazily stood up, turning the light on his nightstand off and drinking the remaining water with the little strength he still had. Leaving the whole box untouched, polaroids still scattered around the floor, he grabbed the first hoodie he could find and went out, in search for answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings in this chapter.
> 
> PS: It might be a bit confusing at first but everything will be explained.  
> PPS: I hate the first memory so I might come back and change it once I get a good idea.


	2. Limerence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Limerence: The state of mind which results from a romantic attraction to another person; the state of being infatuated with another person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ps: this chapter will be memories mostly. I do not explain too much what happens cause I want the reader to picture the situation the way they want to.  
> pps: the next update is coming on friday/saturday ;)  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS AT THE END OF THE CH

Han Jisung had always been a very witty, charming person. Like Robin to Batman, he had always been there for the people he cared about, his heart as big as the solar system; his love, the sun. Loyalty had always been one of his best traits and he was proud of how open he was about his feelings and insecurities in his songs. Writing had helped him open his deepest and unhealed wounds, and he had been proud of that; songwriting had been a self-made therapy. With a smile on his face, he had the ability and the power enough to make everyone around him beam in happiness. He had such a cheerful way of carrying himself around, and he had always been grateful he had friends who cheered him up in his darkest days, because he was human after all, and happiness hadn't always been there for him. He had a secretive side of himself; he had suffered on his own, hiding his pain behind a mask. Jisung hadn’t always been open to his friends, unlike songwriting. But there had been an exception, someone who had always seen past his mask and into his mind, who could read his face anywhere.  
Lee Felix had been an exception since day one, after they met in highschool; Felix had been admitted into his school, and he had been curious about the foreigner. They had become best friends right away, and Felix had been the only one to break his mirror. He had never really understood what was it with Felix that had always made him confortable; there was something about the Australian that made him inevitably open himself up to him. Felix had always loved his openness, and Jisung had always loved his friend's understanding and support.  
Jisung knew right away that the first person he needed to talk to after finding the mysterious box was Felix. He wasn't sure what his friend would say about it, or if he even knew it, but he couldn't wait to see him again, outside the hospital. He had missed their afternoon coffee conversations right after Felix's dance practice, and he reminisced about the countless times he had waited for his friend to meet him where they always met for coffee. He smiled just thinking about their old times, and kept on walking until he arrived where his friend was waiting for him.  
When he spotted his blonde friend sitting by the window, he immediately sat down in front of him, greeting him like old times. He looked just the same as the last time he saw him, but there was a bright smile on his face now. Jisung felt as if nothing had changed, but they both knew that things had, in fact, changed and that Felix knew something he didn't.  
"Something's happened to you," Felix said, right after ordering the usual. He could see a gleam in his friend's eyes he hadn't seen in a really long time, and something inside of Felix sighed in relief. He was glad his friend was feeling much better, and he could never get enough of his smile.  
"I have something inside," Jisung said, leaning forward and whispering as so not to be heard, "A feeling − I don't know what it is."  
Felix leaned forward as well and they were now just centimeters apart. "How does it feel like? This thing, does it hurt?" He frowned.  
Jisung shook his head but doubted. He smiled broadly, "It's wonderful."  
"It's been a while since I last saw that beamy smile of yours," he gasped, giggly. He leaned backwards and gazed at his friend for a long while, examining him. "Did you fall in love with someone?"  
Jisung blushed, and covered his slyly smile. "Maybe." But then he shook his head. "Maybe not, I-I-I don't know." A part of him refused to believe he was in love. Not because he denied the fact that he was attracted to men, but because something so life-changing and extraordinary and fairy-tale like as love could never happen to him. He had never felt it for anyone - except maybe that time when he first met Felix, but that had only been a slight crush, a love at first sight feeling, and it never developed into anything. And now he was with Changbin - thanks to him - and they were happy. He could only wish for something like this to happen to him. Love felt like a marvelous idea, he felt as if it was something so good it had to be fictional. That it didn't exist. "Can you fall in love with someone you don't know?"  
"Sure you can," he answered his friend, after the coffee they ordered arrived to their table.  
"But this is different," he said, sipping his hot coffee and learning backwards, staring out the window. Felix stared at him attentively. "It's not someone I don't know, it's someone I don't remember."  
"You found out about Minho, didn't you?"  
Straight away, their eyes met. Jisung was aware that Felix knew more about Minho than him, but he was still amazed by the sudden words his friend had just said, and they caught his attention. His jaw dropped and Felix realized what all of this was about.  
"Tell me what you know."  
Jisung could hear the concern in his friend's voice. "Felix, you're my best friend, and you're the first person I'm telling this." He then proceeded to explain to Felix exactly what had happened, how he found the box and what followed right after. He couldn't help but notice his friend's disapproval.  
"I don't like this, Jisung," he said, putting down his coffee on the table and looking away, biting his lip. Jisung could read his friend's feeling all over his face: he felt pity for him. He had always been Felix's soft spot, and right then he knew he wouldn't get answers from his best friend.  
"You're the only person I told about it so far."  
Felix folded his arms and glared at him. "I just don't think you should be doing that to yourself. I don't think you should dig out your past, because it was buried for a reason. _You _buried it yourself, so why dig it out?"__  
Jisung sighed. He could see Felix's disapproval through his fiery eyes, through that curved smile of pity; his best friend had pity on him. That angered him.  
"I'm sorry," he said, noticing his friend's disappointment. He grabbed Jisung's hand gently and stared at him, the gleam in his eyes was gone. "I care about you. That's why I can agree with what you're doing. Please, try to understand."  
He nodded, looking down. "How are things with Changbin going?" he said, changing the topic of the conversation. Neither of them talked about Minho or the box again that afternoon. Jisung had so many things to ask him, he had the urge to blurt out everything that rushed through his mind, but he kept it to himself and decided to just drop the topic; it made his best friend happy, and his happiness had always been more important to him than his own.  
"It's on me," Felix said, paying the bill when it was finally time to go. They say goodbye and went their separate ways.  
Jisung found himself wandering around the streets of Seoul, wondering about time itself. He felt like time was his enemy, he never had enough time but now he had all the time in the world: there was nothing keeping him busy.  
When he was home again, he refused to eat dinner, saying that he was too full to eat anything else. He slammed his bedroom's door and kneeled on the floor, right in front of the box. It looked like an altar. He was ready to forget his surroundings and get lost in between memories. Jisung felt a strange feeling of desire run through his veins, like a drug. He became addicted to it, and wanted more and more.  
To his surprise, the next thing on his imaginary timeline was not a polaroid, but a crumpled paper he opened energetically.

* * *

_The day I wrote you a song... but never finished it (year 1 month 2 day 3)_

_I'm finding oasis in the desert_

"What's that?" He asks, taking a better look at the crumpled paper I have in my hands. I wish he wouldn't have seen it, now I have to tell him.  
"I'm writing a song. My song."  
We are sitting on a bench in the park, on a Sunday afternoon, right before the last week of school starts and Minho graduates. The sun is shining on us and I can feel Minho beaming. He truly loves summer, it's his favourite time of the year.  
"Do the rest of 3Racha know this?"  
"We're all writing our own songs now. Changbin is writing his, too."  
"What is it about?" he asks me.  
I squint at the sun, covering both my eyes with my hands. I'm terrified of what he might think about it; I usually show my songs to Chan, Changbin and Felix only. "Looking for something you know you will never have. Something you will never call yours to keep." I make a pause, trying to free my mind and open up to the person I love, but that doesn't love me back. _If only he loved me back... _"About my struggles, about proving people wrong. About not giving up."__  
I can't sleep. Today's conversation with Minho keeps replaying in my head over and over again. Words keep coming out of my heart into the paper, a wave of feelings and thoughts rushing out of me with such fastness that my handwriting becomes messier and messier, almost unreadable. I write the first verse of my solo song:

_I'm finding oasis in the desert_  
_It's the season when the desert remains unchanging_  
_I'm walking on the sand_  
_And I can't seem to see anything_  
_I must find it, I'm still finding it._  
_Though I know I won't ever catch it,_  
_I see something swaying from afar._  
_As I'm getting closer, it's too bright_  
_So I strech out my hands to cover up my eyes,_  
_Both my eyes are closed again._

* * *

Jisung couldn't remember the melody of the song, but he suddenly remembered the lyrics. He smirked, and wondered if he ever sang it to Minho. He couldn't remember why he never finished the song - because he had never left a song half undone - and wondered if it was because Minho didn't like it. Or maybe he had encouraged him not to write anymore - he couldn't remember.  
He picked up the next polaroid and chortled: it was a picture of Minho kneeling down next to a row of beers. He had a funny expression on his face, and the memory followed.

* * *

_The day we got drunk...and I threw up all over your floor (year 1 month 3 day 15)_

Friday nights don't usually consist of Minho calling me at 10 pm telling me his other friends cancelled on him and he has tons of beers for a party he's not going to, but this is exactly what happened to him today.  
When I reach his apartment, right after he called me, the door to his apartment is slightly open. I peek inside and enter right away.  
"You are aware that the door was open, right?" I say, quietly closing the door behind me and giggling at the sight of Minho, who is kneeling down on the ground, carefully placing the beers one by one next to the other on a single newspaper page. I take a picture of him because I think he looks funny. He smiles, still concentrated.  
When he finally stands up, he stares at me and grins. We both know it's going to be a fun night. He picks up the first bottle and passes it to me, "Suit youself," he says, and I unbottle it without hesitation.  
Thirty minutes in and I already drank two bottles of beer. Minho's face is red and puffy, and his eyes are closed: a smile rises from ear to ear. I burp, and Minho giggles.  
"You're drunk," he slurs, smily. I'm also sleepy, my eyes are so heavy I cannot keep them open for much longer; I try to fight the sleep away.  
My smile slowly disappears and all I see before I fall asleep is Minho sweeping the floor.

* * *

Jisung bursted into laughter, remembering how he made Minho clean up his mess. He didn't remember much about that day, but he did remember Minho saying he was never going to give him another beer in his life. He also remembered he hadn't had a beer since then; or maybe he did but he couldn't remember because he had erased it.  
The next picture looked like something taken out of a magazine; it was the picture of two hands interlocked. He easily recognized his own hand but it took him a while to recognize Minho's. It made Jisung feel like it was an unbreakable bond, but he knew he was wrong. What happened between them that day? He wondered, and the memory struck him like lightning.

* * *

_The day we said "I love you" (year 1 month 3 day 23)_

"I am truly fascinated by you," I confess, looking down at the grass and the colorful flowers growing on it, on one of our strolls around the park. The afternoon is warm and the trees are greener than ever.  
Minho doesn't say anything. I gaze at him, he stares back. He doesn't look half as surprised as I thought he would look. He nods.  
"I know."  
"You know?"  
He giggles, shyly. "Ever since detention. Since the day we first met."  
I ask him to go on.  
"You asked me a lot of questions. You expected a lot of answers."  
"Well, that's true," I say. "I'm an extremely curious person."  
"I really like that about you," he says, flashing a smile that make my legs weak. Butterflies fly all over the space between us, filling it with colors. _I'm the only one who sees them._  
"I'm fascinated by you, too," he whispers loud enough for me to hear him, raising his shoulders and putting both of his hands in the pockets of his pants. He doesn't look at me: he doesn't want to see my reaction. _My reply._  
I link arms with him, and squeeze his arm against mine, ignoring Minho's reaction and the people around us. It feels like we're in a bubble, and no one can see us. But I see him, and he sees me. And I'm in love. And he's in love with me too.

* * *

_The day our hearts met and I called you mine (year 1 month 4 day 1)_

I have always wanted to touch Minho's face from the moment I met him. It looks like a giant, fluffy marshmallow and I always imagine it being super soft, like a cotton ball. I never actually thought I would ever get to touch it, but I'm feeling lucky.  
We're sitting on the grass in our favorite park, laying down under the biggest tree. Minho has fallen asleep; he looks so cute, the wind makes his hair dance with the warm summer breeze. I take the hair out of his eyes and I suddenly find myself tracing Minho's face, from the corner of his forehead, down his chubby cheek until I reach his jaw. Sharp, soft, like a butter knife. His calm smile disappears, and my eyes meet his. He has a puzzled gaze. My eyes shift from gazing at his eyes to staring at his lips. We are just a few centimeters apart, I can feel him heavy breathing: he's nervous. I have never seen him nervous before, my smile widens.  
Without thinking too much about it, I impulsively draw him closer, my hand now grabbing his shirt gently, and our lips meet. I close my eyes, without thinking about anything at all, just how good it feels to kiss the person I love. The kiss lasts for a couple of seconds, but it's enough to make my world stop. The butterflies explode out of me into the space between my face and his. He pulls apart, pushing me aside slowly: a smile draws on his face. I smile back, pleased.  
Even though I know I might have possibly changed everything between us, I don't regret it: I've been wanting to do that since forever. I blush, a bit ashamed now.  
Minho remains quiet for a couple of minutes but quickly drags me closer and kisses me, better and more fiercely than the last time. I kiss him back and it feels like our hearts beat at the same time.  
When he finally pushes me apart, this time I'm sure I have nothing to be afraid of. I announce, happily, "So it's official then."

* * *

Jisung touched his lips, nostalgic. He remembered feeling as if Minho's lips fitted exactly onto his like the perfect match, and that no one else could take his place. He had dreamt about the day he would finally get to kiss him day after day, countless sleepless nights, but nothing compared to how it actually went. He had been satisfied.  
The next polaroid confused him, and it took him about three minutes to figure out it was a burnt fried chicken - or something that closely resembled it.

* * *

_The day you burned your first food (year 1 month 12 day 5)_

I'm glad Minho finally allowed me to enter his kitchen and cook with him, but I guess now we know it's never happening again: he's blaming me for burning the fried chicken.  
"It's already burned, there's nothing we can do about it," I say, sitting down to eat. Minho glares at me: his first burned meal.  
"I can't believe you made me burn a meal," he says, his frown breaking down into a cackle. "It looks tasteless."  
"You don't know until you try it," I say. "Come on, it's not that bad. Taste it."  
"The worst meal I've ever cooked," he confesses, gulping the chicken as if it is burning his throat. I watch him cough until his face is all red and he looks like a tomato. I giggle. He chokes, and we both know it means Minho will never invite me to cook with him ever again.

* * *

There was nothing Jisung enjoyed more than smiling and beaming in happiness, and the memories were like opening presents on Christmas: he didn't know what to expect from them. Each memory took him to uncharted territory, and every time he picked up a polaroid he was beginning to collect bits and pieces of his memory. He felt as if he was putting pieces of his mind's puzzle together, fitting the pieces one next to the other; he wanted to finish the game, see the finished puzzle, no gaps in between.

* * *

_The day we built our kingdom (year 2 month 1 day 16)_

"I wish I had the guts to leave them."  
"But you can," he says, holding my hand in empathy. "You can move in with me. We could be roommates."  
"That would be fun," I say, "but I have no income whatsoever. I'm still in school."  
Minho gasps and I can see deep thinking: he will come up with a plan, as always.  
"Don't worry, I don't care about that. You can still go to school and all, I'm sure your parents won't mind, they don't even notice when you're home anyways. Besides," he adds, "This could be our kingdom. No rules, no restrictions. Just us, and a spoonful of fun. Think about it."  
I curve a smile. _Our kingdom._ I like the idea. I nod my head and shake his hand, sealing the agreement enthusiastically.

* * *

 

He felt as if he were watching a movie: he could remember every line of the script, every action the actors made, the scenography. They had been in Minho's apartment that day, Jisung remembered rushing to his boyfriend after the usual argument with his parents: "What are you going to do when you graduate? What are you going to study?", he couldn't bare it any longer. He had remembered feeling that the questions were like bullets, hitting his head and killing his mind immediately. Minho had always been there to comfort him, and he had felt safe in his arms, cuddled until he could cry no more.  
Jisung picked up the remaining polaroids and placed them inside the box, without disrupting the order. Then, he laid down on his naked bedroom floor and sighed, closing his eyes. He felt as if his heart was going to burst and little, almost imperceptible pink hearts were going to come out of him and spread all over his room, sticking to its walls and covering the floor. He felt his heartbeat go wild and beat uncontrollably fast; indeed, he was in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: underage drinking  
> ps: i didn't want to describe the whole situation of Jisung throwing up cause it grosses me out a bit (and I didn't want to gross you all out too) but you know that's what happens okay :)  
> pps: i know it's not the best update ever, i'm super tired today but i swear i'll come back and improve it (i didn't spell check the au so there will probably be a lot of grammar mistakes, i'm sorry). See you on saturday!  
> ppps: for all of you who don't know, the song Jisung started writing is "I see" (it's a real song and you can listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OSv9ewgmthA))  
> 


	3. Oblivion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oblivion: The state of being unaware of what is happening around you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters are gonna be shorter from now on :)  
> NO TRIGGER WARNINGS

Jisung woke up on the bare floor of his bedroom. He could remember laying down on the floor and closing his eyes, but he was surprised he actually fell asleep. His body ached and his back was sore: he regretted laying down. Shortly after he woke up, his cellphone rang: it was Chan. He stumbled, still sleepy, and lazily grabbed his phone from his nightstand.  
"Hello?" he hoarsed.  
"Hi Jisung! How are you feeling?"  
"My body aches but it's just because I just woke up. What time is it?" He rubbed his eyes.  
"It's lunch time! Why don't we go somewhere, anywhere you want to go? There are a couple of things I want to tell you." His friend knew exactly how to catch his attention.  
He packed his camera and grabbed a coat, and went out the door feeling anxious, ready to unbottle his questions to someone, and hoping to get the answers he had been expecting for a while now.

Half an hour later they were already ordering their food. Jisung had been reluctant to meet his friend, he feared he would blurt out everything on his mind, and that the box full of memories was going to become today's conversation.  
"What did you want to tell me?" Jisung quavered, anxiously.  
Chan raised an eyebrow, grinning. "I think we should start working on our third mixtape."  
"What about Changbin? Where is he?"  
"He's on a date with Felix, but don't worry, we'll talk about this the three of us. I simply wanted to know if you were up for it."  
Jisung hesitated, doubtful, and shook his head. "I can't. Not right now."  
"Why?"  
"I have a lot on my mind, and I haven't written a song since..."  
Chan smiled, and Jisung knew what it meant: it was one of those smiles that meant everything's okay even when it's really not.  
He dropped his jaw, disappointed and hurt. "Felix told you everything, didn't he?" Chan's smile disappeared as fast as it came. He looked concerned and serious, and for a moment there Jisung saw a Chan he hadn't seen in a long time, a Chan he had been afraid of facing.

Bang Chan had always been his trustworthy, cheerful, caring, bright friend. Jisung had always admired his friend's enthusiasm, positivity and optimism: he had the ability of looking beyond the storm, through the thunder and lightning, past the rain and the raging waves of the roaring ocean. He had never understood why Chan was always so uplifting and happy, and he had longed for a feeling like that to reach him someday. His friend rarely got angry and sad, but he had always lived his life worrying about the rest. He had never understood how he balanced his life so effortlessly, without stumbles and falls - it had always been... perfect. Besides the fact that he was far away from his family, he walked through life head held high and a beamy smile on his face, dimples on his cheeks.

"He's worried, Jisung," he confessed, grimly. "We all are."  
"I don't need everyone's pity."  
Chan sighed and slightly shook his head, disappointed. "Why can't you understand we care about you. What you're doing... it's not right. You should stop before it's too late to turn back."  
"If you care about me, tell me what happened, before I find out on my own," he snapped, angrily.  
"I can't. _I won't. _"__  
"I used to think it was okay for me not to remember certain stuff - I accepted it. After all, it was my own decision. _Mine. _But you have no idea how irritating and frustrating it can be sometimes, to try and remember something you asked to forget. It's like a constant fight between my past and my present self. It's nerve-racking."__  
"I want to help you, I really do," he looked at Jisung's angry-red face and nodded. "But you made me promise that I wouldn't tell you anything. I've never broken a promise before, and I'm not planning on breaking it now. Sorry, Jisung."  
"I should've seen it coming," he muttered under his breath, clenching his jaw. "I don't need you anyways, I'll find out on my own. I'm going to recover my memories."  
"Are you sure that's what you want?"  
"Pretty sure."  
His friend nodded, silently. The chatter died right there: Chan knew that there was no stopping his friend, Jisung had always been one of those people that once he set his mind on something, not even he could stop himself.  
Shortly after, they parted ways. Jisung didn't go home right away; he walked around the streets, went for some coffee and finally went to the park where he had his first kiss with Minho. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed being outside, how the breeze felt on his bare face, how it felt to be relatively small compared to the rest of the world.  
He sat down on a bench and sipped his coffee. The afternoon was breezy and chilly, it made Jisung remember how much he actually hated winter. He watched how the sky changed colors, how it gradually changed from a light-blue cloudless sky to a pink, orange-lilac cloudy sky. He had loved witnessing the change in colors, and enthusiastically snapped a picture of the sky. It was the first picture he took after his release from the hospital, and he was satisfied with himself: he had feared his interest in photography would fade away - he was glad it didn't. He smiled to himself and snapped a few more pictures; he couldn't remember the last time he took a picture of the sky and, for that matter, a picture at all. When he finished his coffee, he walked home.  
His mom was waiting for him in the porch. She had a worried look on her face, and Jisung knew things weren't well between them.  
"I'm sorry, Mom," he mumbled, going up the stairs and into the house.  
"I barely see you anymore," she confessed. "What's going on with you, with your life... is everything okay, sweetie?"  
"Yes," he lied. He didn't want to unnecessarily worry his mother, he didn't wanna wrap her into his problems. Besides, he never was one of those children to tell their mothers what was going on in their lives.  
"I'm not going to eat dinner," he announced, before slamming his bedroom door and sliding right into his bubble. The polaroids and the memories had built a thick wall around him, and his room felt like a secret passage to the past. It was his own little hideaway.

* * *

_The day the sea hugged us (year 2 month 7 day 11)_

We are sitting by the Han river. The flowers are blooming, and they wave at us with the gentle touch of the warm breeze. The sun is shining intensively, reflecting itself on the water. Minho's tan skin glows.  
"What are you looking at?" I ask. I know he is looking at the river in front of us, but the way his eyes just seem to think of something else urges me to ask. For a moment, he looks like someone else, like I'm looking at someone I have yet to meet; a new side of him.  
"Nothing."  
"You're always staring at nothing."  
He chuckles, squinting at me. "You're right."  
I wait for him to go on. _How Jisung wished he would've told Minho how serene he looked, how calm and relaxed he felt when he was by his side. He never did._  
"How can something so huge, so powerful, be in front of us? The world is so incredibly big. The waves, they're unchanging. It's so loud. And yet we take it for granted."  
He pauses, trying to find the right words to free his mind, his bottled thoughts. He knows I will always be there to listen to him. He goes on.  
"We wake up everyday and we know for a fact that the waves and the river and the sky will be there. That the grass will keep on growing and that the sun will shine on us. We are horrible, despicable human beings and I hate how selfish and how self-centered we can be sometimes. We don't appreciate what the world has to give, and yet we don't give the world what it needs... peace. Recycling. Reusing. We damage it, we damage it completely.  
"And one day, maybe one day people will wake up and realize that the sky is not there and that the ocean is not there and that we live in a whole contaminated toxic bubble. And we will try to get out but we will never succeed. We're all just gonna die someday. It's inevitable, that's just life."

* * *

Another Polaroid, another lost memory. He wished the pictures would stop urging him to look at them: it was inevitable. He felt the need to slowly touch the picture, to pass his index finger from top to bottom, through Minho's chubby cheek onto his shoulder and back up. He had a relaxing smile, as if telling him everything would be alright. But things weren't right, and a single picture wouldn't change the fact that he was no longer in his life, that he had erased him completely.

* * *

_The day the moon sang us a lullaby (year 3 month 2 day 28)_

I trace Minho's soft skin with my finger. I trace the corner of his eyes, down his fluffy cheek onto his jaw, through his lips, up his cute nose to his forehead. I've become convinced he has been sculpted by gods, and that there's no way such a man is in love with me.  
Our hearts are on fire. Our love rebirths in every breath we take when we are together, in every touch, every kiss. Minho makes my heart burn inside of me, he makes it go wild and beat uncontrollably. And I love that feeling, I wish it could linger in my heart forever.  
"I showed you signs of weakness," I softly whisper to a half-asleep Minho. "Like... _true _weakness. That doesn't happen very often, it's odd. I guess I really appreciate you, huh?"__  
Minho looks like a baby. He's fallen asleep bare-chested next to me, his hair is unusually messy. He still has his eyes closed, but is awake - half awake at least. He replies, mumbly, "You shouldn't think of them as weaknesses."  
"What should I think of it as then? Strength?"  
He suddenly opens his eyes, tracing the corners of my lips with his eyes and back up until our eyes meet. I can barely see him in the moonlight. "Not everything that is not strength is a weakness," he softly replies in a whisper, and plants a kiss on my cheek. We fall back asleep under the sweet, gentle song of the moonlight, cuddling until the morning comes and takes this memory away.

* * *

_The day we discovered our infiniteness (year 3 month 3 day 2)_

"I love how infinite we are. How immortal some people can make us feel," he says, interlocking his fingers with mine and curving a smile that looks like a half moon. I smile back, and he kisses my hand slowly, softly, like it's made of glass. We both can't fall asleep, we've been awake for a while now and we're gazing at each other, our hearts beating at the same time, with the same beat.  
"What's wrong?" I ask, sensing a nervous twitch in Minho's lips. "Tell me," I softly insist, "What are you worried about?"  
"I'm always worried about you because your heart is weak," he confesses, ashamed. "You're soft-hearted, I'm always worried about you getting your heart broken, and I won't be able to fix you."  
He strokes my hair, and I can feel him heavy breathing. I put my hand on his chest and smile, thankful. "You're always going to fix me. Even if you are the one who wrecks me, I know you'll fix me back. It's what you always do." I pull him closer and we embrace. Minho falls asleep shortly after, and once I'm sure he's completely out, I push him over the side and break the embrace: he hasn't even moved.  
I'm inspired. I stand up and quietly shuffle to the kitchen. I pick up a pen, a paper and I write:

 _Truthfully, I'm very much weak hearted_  
_When the night's getting too dark_  
_I'll be too scared to sleep_  
_My imaginary friend's talking to me,_  
_"Cause you've done well so far,_  
_Now do whatever you want."_

I've been working on my solo song for a long time now, and I somehow feel like I'll never finish it. It lacks the final touch; I wonder if it's out there somewhere, if I'll ever find it.

* * *

Jisung found himself longing for a past he could never have back. Sleepless nights in their messy apartment, playful dates by the river: it all looked like a movie to him. Like a book he read once and couldn't remember the name nor the author. It didn't belong to him anymore; he had given it away and had decided to do what was best for him - but he had been selfish. Jisung couldn't bare to remember their last date, their last kiss, their last fight. He couldn't come up with the terms of a painful heartbreak. And he still couldn't remember the worst part, the part that had forced him to erase Minho completely. He didn't want to dig out what he had tried so hard to bury. He was afraid: he didn't want to find out what had happened between them. _Not yet._ Jisung felt he wasn't ready.

* * *

_The day we greeted the sun for the first time (year 3 month 5 day 6)_

"Let's follow the sun and see where it takes us."  
I smile, still closed eyed. The sunrise comes through the balcony of our room and spreads all over, filling it with light and warmth. The room has now a yellow, amber color, as if we're inside a honey jar. The break of dawn is Minho's favourite part of the day.  
I slowly open my eyes and squint at the sun. "We all have a little bit of wanting to change the world in ourselves, but you my friend, have the whole bottle."  
I'm still in bed but Minho's all woken up and facing the sun, on the balcony. Even though I can't see his face, I can feel him grinning.  
"You're like a sunflower. You follow the sun."  
"I do," he replies, proudly. "It's my source of energy."  
I breathe out a laugh, covering my face with my pillow.  
"The sun must set to rise," he says, now in a more serious tone. "Always remember that, Jisung, or you'll be doomed."  
I nod, still covering my eyes. "Come back to bed," I say. "It's still too early."

* * *

"Chan, I'm sorry about today. I was a jerk, but I really need to see you again. Now." he texted his friend, immediately after he dropped the last polaroid and put the box away, hiding it back in the wardrobe. He knew it was almost midnight, but his friend was a night owl, Jisung was sure he would be awake. And he was right.  
Seconds later, he received his reply.

"Come over, Changbin wants to tell you something too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this ch is short and that the update is late, I'm sorry. The next update is coming up on friday as well :/ I'll try to post it on wednesday but we'll see


	4. Ephemeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ephemeral: Lasting for a very short time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are going to go downhill from now on :)  
> also, TWO CHAPTERS TO GO ! how do you think it will end ? remember, there's an alternative ending so :)  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS AT THE END OF THE CH

Jisung sneaked out of his house for the first time in years. He remembered the last time he had done so it had been to meet Chan and Changbin in an underground to join a rap battle when they were teens. The victory of that night had made an impact significantly big on him enough to convince Jisung he was actually good at rapping, and his journey with 3Racha had started then.  
He arrived at their place breathless and cold. He was shivering and he could see puffs of air coming out of him in every breath he exhaled. Once the door shut behind him, they both turned on him, expectantly.  
Without saying a word, the three of them sat slovenly on the couch and stared at each other, Jisung's eyes drifting from side to side, from Chan to Changbin, and back again.  
Chan was the first one to break the awkward atmosphere between them. "I'm sorry about today."  
"It's all good," Jisung said. "I wasn't in the best mood, sorry."  
"So, um, about the mixtape -"  
"I told you, I'm not ready yet," Jisung interrupted Chan, but not like the last time. This time, he wasn't angry or annoyed, he was tired.  
"We know," he said, "and we'll wait for you. We'll wait for you to be ready."  
Jisung glanced at Changbin. "I guess Felix told you what's going on with me."  
"He did," he replied, looking down and nodding.  
Jisung turned back to Chan. "I'm sorry I pushed you to tell me," he said, "I know you're against it. I shouldn't have bothered you with it."  
"I know I can't stop you. _No one _can," Chan said, patting his back, smiling once again. Pity, Jisung thought, he could see the remains of that feeling in his friend's smile.__  
"In just five days you have completely destroyed what you fought so hard for, how does that feel?" Changbin asked.  
"If I'm honest, it's a relief," he said, gasping. Chan raised an eyebrow. "It feels good to be human again."  
Chan and Changbin both sighed in unison, defeated.  
"I was a robot - I felt like a robot. I hated feeling that you all knew what was wrong with me. You all hid that from me. I hid it to myself, too. But I woke up, I'm finally awake again."  
"You woke up from a dream you shouldn't have woken up from," Changbin slurred, "Now it will all be a nightmare."  
"I don't care, I won't turn back now," he said, ignoring his friend's disapproval stare.  
"We are dreamers," Chan said, "We know only to dream. When we wake up, it's the end of our world."  
"It might be the end of your world but it's certainly not the end of mine."  
Suddenly, Changbin stood up and paced to his room. At first, Jisung thought he had annoyed his friend, that he was tired of listening to his complaints - after all, it had happened before. Even though Jisung hadn't always been one to complain, Changbin was one of those people who got irritated easily.  
When he got back to the room, he had something in his hands. From afar, it looked like a polaroid.  
"You're getting your memories back and," he stammered, thoughtfully, "I have something to give you."  
"What is it?" Jisung asked intrigued, his eyes wide. He stood up and walked towards his friend, a feeling of excitement running through his belly and fingertips. He trembled, a bit nervous.  
Now, more closely, he could identify the object in his friend's hand: it was, indeed, a polaroid, but he could only see the back of it.  
"I want to make sure this is absolutely what you want."  
"It is," he confirmed, nodding obediently.  
"You told me I should only give you this if you were recovering your memories. You also told me this," he shook the picture in his hands, teasingly, "is your favourite memory. Your most _cherished _one."__  
Jisung attepted to snatch the polaroid from Changbin but was left empty handed. "Hold on, I'm not done yet."  
He rolled his eyes and sighed, waiting for his friend to go on.  
"I know you'll make the right choice. In the end, I know you'll do what you know is right."  
Jisung failed to understand his friend, but he knew he wasn't talking to him: he was talking to his brain, his partially erased memory. Jisung nodded once again.  
Changbin then handed the polaroid to Jisung, still backwards, and placed it slowly in his hand. He sighed, and Jisung knew he had doubts: Changbin _always _had doubts about everything.__  
"When did I give you this?" He asked, placing the polaroid slowly and carefully into his pocket.  
"You'll find out soon enough."

When Jisung returned home, the sun was beginning to rise. He then found himself foolishly smiling about Minho, and how much he enjoyed that time of the day, where everybody was asleep yet the day had woken up. He dashed home, eager to fall asleep and dream of Minho, of how his presence felt like a warm wave of heat to break his deadly ice.  
Once inside, he tiptoed to his room and begged for his parents not to wake up. Lately, his mom had been very attentive of him, which he felt was weird because in the past they barely noticed when he was home.  
Wrapped under a thousand blankets, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

The next day he woke up to Changbin's voice in his head: _"You'll find out soon enough"._ He decided not to think about it too much but his friend's voice echoed in his head. Last night he fought the urge to look at the picture: he didn't want to trigger that memory just yet. He would wait for the box to be empty and for all the previous memories to reach him before he breathed Minho in for the last time.  
Without going out of his room or eating breakfast, he kneeled upon the box and opened it, an air of admiration and pleasure surrounding him like the thousand times before.  
This time, another piece of paper. More lyrics, he thought. And he was right.

* * *

_Support me, my friends_  
_So I can reach it._  
_Kneeling down to gain momentum_  
_I won't ever lose._  
_Even if my two hands are tied,_  
_I'll keep walking along the streets_  
_Confidently with my two feet._  
_I don't wanna take a rest_  
_I have to struggle for more people who support me._  
_If I fall into huge puddles of mud,_  
_Even if it sucks me down, I'll swim up_  
_Then I'll put my thumbs up just like Terminator;_  
_I'll be back home. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
_______________

* * *

Their first fight. Jisung had written the lyrics after an argument with Minho. Their first big disagreement. Jisung remembered writing the lyrics as soon as Minho stepped out the door, leaving him alone in the apartment. He had felt he was losing him a bit. He couldn't recall what had made Minho so furious, but he wasn't sure he wanted to remember either. He read the last line again: _I'll be back home._

* * *

_The day we made a promise (year 4 month 9 day 9)_

"Let's make a promise," Minho suddenly says, making up his mind. His skin glows in the sun as he lays down on the grass, his hands behind his head, closing his eyes. I lay down beside him, squinting my eyes because of the light.  
"What kind of promise?"  
"Every time you look at the sun, you will see."  
I make a funny expression of confusion. "I will see… what?"  
"You'll see everything. You'll see us, you'll see our love, you'll see our fun times and our dates and our feelings for each other."  
"I see," I say between laughs, closing my eyes. _I see._

* * *

Jisung saw: he saw them, he saw their love and their fun times. He saw through the pictures a love he had forgotten - _erased _\- and he didn't want to face the ending of this relationship yet. He felt full yet empty, he couldn't picture Minho feeling the same way he was feeling.__  
He was weak: he had never liked to admit it, but there was no denying now. He had always been sensitive, and even though his sensitivity wasn't linked with his weakness, he had both.  
Next, he picked up a picture of both Minho and Felix, peace signs, eye smiles. They looked exhausted and drained, drops of sweat running down their foreheads.

* * *

_The day you uncovered a passion (year 4 month 9 day 21)_

I'm patiently waiting for Minho and Felix to come back from their first class as dance instructors for youngsters. I remember Minho saying he wanted to do this for the longest time and pairing him up with my best friend has been my cleverest idea yet.  
I wave at them from my table, sitting where we always sit when we go out for coffee, the same old coffee shop near our apartment.  
"So," I say, my eyes gleaming with excitement, once they're sitting down in front of me. "How was it?"  
Felix smiles, "It was good."  
"Better than we expected," Minho adds, smiling shyly. "A lot of people came."  
"They were so cute!" Felix squeals.  
I smile, pleased. Things are looking up for them.

* * *

Jisung carefully placed the polaroid back in the box and took out the following piece of memory: another crumpled paper. He knew by now that crumpled papers and lyrics meant fights. They were more frequent now, and Jisung started feeling that he was caught in the middle of a hurricane while going down a big black hole, the sun still shining on him like nothing changed the fact that they had some great times, too - that they were _still _together.__

* * *

_Mom and Dad said it,_  
_"If it gets hard, you can stop anytime" (it's okay)_  
_After hearing that, I signaled right away_  
_Get a hold of my mind_  
_It's so hard_  
_So God what should I do? (I don't know)_  
_Honestly, I'm almost there now_  
_If I run away from here,_  
_Will I be a coward? (Is that okay?)_

* * *

Jisung's parents had tried to bring him back home when they found out their relationship was having problems. Back then, it made him realize how much Minho and their love meant to him, and he had decided to keep on working hard to make things right and to keep Minho close to him, to avoid their separation, to avoid losing him. When Minho had found out about this, he had pushed Jisung to leave, to go back to his parents - but he had refused. The argument had ended with tears, kisses, embraces and everything in between. It had ended with a single phrase, with two words that meant a thousand more: _"I see."_

* * *

_People around me have divided reactions_  
_Half to half to half and to half of it_  
_Are the sound of encouragement for me._  
_But since then all the stories passed and disappeared,_  
_Abruptly bypass back to the mountains_  
_I see._

* * *

The next polaroid was blurry and dark, and he couldn't recognize what he was looking at - but it didn't really matter, because the memory came to him anyway.

* * *

_The day there was fire in my eyes (year 5 month 1 day 7)_

"I told you, I stayed up late practicing new dance routines with Felix," he growls, throwing his hands in the air. "I'm sorry I'm late."  
"That's not it," I say, folding my arms, "You're always late. You promised me you would be on time for dinner today." I wait for a response: there isn't one.  
I turn off the light of our room. He doesn't come in like I expect him to.  
"I'll sleep on the couch tonight," he says, and I fall asleep.

* * *

_Soft voice_  
_Shade of me, shade of me_  
_Take a deep breath;_  
_After reorganizing my goals,_  
_I'm chasing the mirage again._

* * *

The box was almost empty now. He still had a few more things - _memories _\- but there wasn't much to hold on to. Jisung did not feel relieved, even though he thought getting all his memories back meant, in a way, that he was back to his past self, he could now feel Minho's absence with an intensity he had never before. He now had a vast feeling of loneliness in him, and even then he didn't understand why they weren't together anymore.__  
A crumpled paper loosely attached to a picture of a door - their apartment door. Nothing had prepared him for what was coming next: a raging fire.

* * *

_I see_  
_Thank you, thanks_  
_For worrying about me (thank you)_  
_Of course I wanna go back too_  
_But there is still a lot for me to achieve_  
_Even if I can't find my way_  
_I'll be there,_  
_I see._

* * *

_The day you walked away… and we broke up (year 5 month 11 day 9)_

I wait for Minho to come in and close the door before I tell him anything. He stands still, still by the door.  
"Late again," I say. "Not surprised anymore."  
"Sorry," I can barely hear his mumble; he says it as if he doesn't want me to hear him.  
I roll my eyes, glaring at him. "Are you avoiding me?"  
He doesn't look surprised by my sudden accusation. "Why would you think such a thing?"  
"Uh, I don't know. Maybe because you're rarely home anymore. Maybe because you spend more time outside working than home with me. I'm starting to think you even see Felix way more than I do."  
We are staring at each other like a mirror, each one of us reflecting a side we've been hiding for a while now. _Our worst fears _, in a way - the worst version of ourselves.__  
"Where are you going? You just arrived," I say as soon as Minho breaks the eye contact and grabs his coat again.  
He sighs, turning around and facing the door. "Anywhere but here," he confesses in an almost unhearable whisper, _"You're slowly disappearing."_  
I stand up, clenching my fists, feeling every nerve of my body move with rage. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
He drops the coat carelessly on the ground and points at me, like a threat: he has fire in his eyes too. "Just look at you, Jisung. Why are you only criticizing me here? You've got flaws too, you know," he grunts, shaking. "Look at yourself in the damn mirror for once in a while, it's there for a reason."  
Minho always said mirrors reflect a part of our souls that we choose to ignore, that we consciously erase from ourselves. Of course, we can't delete it completely, and mirrors help us to face that side of ourselves with a naked eye.  
He continues to talk to me, now in a more hurtful way, his voice breaking and fighting the need to cry. "You spend all day in bed, you never ask me about anything anymore. You gave up photography and songwriting almost completely. You only care about yourself and what you think, what you feel. You're shallow and empty and I don't know how to fill you up. I-I-I don't know what you want from me."  
I gasp, trying to prevent myself from blurting, softly and tactlessly, "You don't love me anymore?"  
He is sobbing now, wiping the tears as they fall down his cheek. I've never seen him so _broken_ before. And it breaks my heart to see him like this, but it's helpless: my anger is greater than my pity.  
"I know the Jisung I love is still inside of you somewhere. But with every day that goes by, he _dies._ I don't know how to keep him alive. I'm not going to wait around for that Jisung to come back to me, I'm tired of waiting."  
I break down into fury and madness, shrieking at him like I've never dared before. "You're jealous! Oh my God, you're jealous of me, that's it! You've always been, you work all day and you're never home unlike me." I splutter; I'm completely out of my mind. I throw my hands in the air and jeer at him, defiantly.  
But I'm not the only one spitting fire here: Minho erupts, spitting a fire he's been a prisoner of for a long time. "You are so immature sometimes! I swear to God, I can't speak to you like this!"  
"Like this? What do you mean?"  
Silence. For a moment, he looks afraid of saying something, but eventually mumbles, quietly and inaudibly, "You're broken… I-I don't know how to fix you." His fire is not more than ashes now.  
But my fire is still rising up, blowing up my mind and exploding in my mouth, hotter than ever. "Shut up! Give me a break, I'm not a toy okay? So stop fucking treating me like one. You're the one who's broken here, _fuck_ just look at you! Look at your face!" I snap, pointing at him. "You're such a crybaby."  
Silence. I can't hear our hearts beating at the same time anymore. The room's freezing cold, I can't feel it's warmth anymore. The apartment is dark, I can't see it's light any longer. It's all gone. There is nothing else but us, right here and right now, standing on a single string that is about to break and we'll fall. Or maybe I'll be the only one falling.  
"I'm sorry, Minho. Please, oh fuck don't leave. I _need_ you."  
He stares at me once more, coat in one hand and the doorknob in the other. His eyes are sending me a painful message through the tears: he wants me out, gone. In the morning he will come back to an empty apartment.  
"I'm sorry I couldn't fix you," he barely murmurs, softly choking the words out.  
And then, the door slam tells me that things are done between us. Five years go to waste _just like that._

* * *

Jisung sobbed, breathless, choking on his own pain. Hurt, lonely, heartless: he had relived his most painful moment. His memory tingled and he had found the missing piece of his puzzle.  
He wondered where Minho was now, what he was doing. If he still lived alone in his apartment, how he had moved on from him - _if_ he had moved on. If he was shattered just as he was.  
He shook his head. Minho had been the one to break up with him. He was probably happy now, maybe he had found love again - Jisung knew nothing about his whereabouts.  
He texted Felix but got no reply. He texted Chan and agreed to meet him at the park.

The day was muddy, damp, cloudy, humid. It was grey and cold. He felt like staying home but knew he couldn't: he was going to get answers. He found Chan sitting on a bench under the biggest willow tree. He had always loved willow trees, especially for its symbolism: balance, life, growth, harmony; things he couldn't identify with right now, but that he had felt all his life.  
"How are you feeling?"  
"I know we broke up," he said bluntly. Chan nodded. He went on, "You were right, in a way," he admitted. "But you're wrong, because I don't regret it at all," he said, referring to the memories. "That happiness - it didn't last long. Like nothing ever does anymore."  
"What do you mean?"  
"Happiness never lasts when it's attached to people, and it's _always_ attached to people. We're tangled in between wanting to be happy, pretending we're happy and being genuinely happy. I've come to think happiness is not, and never was a feeling - it's an idea. One can never feel an idea, you can only pretend to. And I'm tired of pretending. I am tired of feelings and ideas and everything in between."  
"Do you think all people pretend to be happy?"  
"Well, sometimes," Jisung hesitated, picking up a leaf and twiddling it with his fingers. It was dry and withered, dead. "Now tell me, where is him?"  
"I-I don't know," he stuttered, unsure whether he should say it or not. He passed his hand through his jaw, doubtful.  
"It is destroying me, Chan," Jisung begged, puppy facing his friend. "Everything that I do, that I see, it reminds me of him. I see his face and hear his laugh, and I feel my heart getting warmer and I'm slowly melting, and it's just a memory. Everything is just a memory. Just a week ago I had no idea _who_ this guy was and why I had erased five years of him in just a month."  
"Is the box empty?" he asked.  
"Almost," he answered. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, "I was desperate to know, I was _eager_ to find out my mistakes and correct them, and I saw how much I cared about him. I still do," he confessed, smiling through the pain he had inside, a pain he refused to show Chan - he wouldn't understand. "I'm begging you, as a longtime friend, tell me where he is now."  
"I can't."  
Jisung shook his head. "I know I can't change the past, I know I might make the same mistakes I did before. But I'm willing to try, I'm willing to change."  
Chan remained quiet, gulping down his personal thoughts about the topic, thoughts he knew Jisung disagreed with.  
"I am completely and hopelessly and devotedly in love with Minho, Chan, _please_..."  
Silence. Jisung could hear the wind, as if it were howling at him. He closed his eyes, now feeling the wind crash into his face and disheveling his hair. Chan glared at him, his face serious, his voice tone low, "Do you think you're ready to handle the ugly truth?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: depression, cursing  
> I modified the lyrics to "i see" a bit.  
> BIG SPOILER: if you actually google what the symbolism of the willow tree is (which is v interesting btw) you may possibly infer the end LOL - i'm just warning y'all  
> I KNOW THE UPDATE IS LATE IM SO SORRY i suck


	5. Epiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epiphany: A moment of sudden and great revelation or realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> singlehandedly the most difficult chapter i've written. i hope you guys enjoy it !  
> PS: It's so cliché i'm so sorry i hope it's not too cringy :/  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS AT THE END OF THE CH

"Do you think you're ready to handle the ugly truth?"  
After Chan pronounced those words, a thousand knives went right into his chest, perforating his heart. He heavy breathed, feeling the beat of his heart race. He pictured Minho with someone else, smiling as if he had already moved on from him, like they never had anything. Jisung didn't feel like he could tolerate happiness he could never have back from him. He could still see Minho the way he had always been, smile on his face, his chubby cheeks that felt like rose petals when he touched them, his brownish hair that reminded Jisung of chocolate, its fluffiness, his laugh that was like a thousand little bells ringing, and his body, which Jisung was sure was sculpted by gods; perfect yet imperfectly beautiful.  
Every single thing they had done together for the last five years came to his mind, where he now had a full album of memories, flipping the pages feeling melancholic: hugging, holding hands, sharing drinks, going on dates, deep talks, linking arms, sharing smiles, sharing clothes, laying his head on his shoulder, listening to his heartbeat, handwritten notes, going out for coffee, nuzzling, talking about the future and what they wanted in life. He could still picture Minho's face gleaming with wonder and amazement every time he asked him what he wanted in life, Minho always answering the same thing: being happy, forever and ever. Jisung had reacted differently every time, but he had disagreed with him. He knew he wouldn't always be happy, that he couldn't contain happiness throughout all his life. He had answered that he just wanted him, to have the privilege of being by his side until they were grey and old and he could picture them, sitting on the bench in the park, staring out at the sky, holding hands and feeling the same way they had felt when they first kissed each other, all those years ago. After all, together they were immortal.  
Jisung didn't expect Chan to drag him out of the park into his car. He had no idea where he was going but he didn't expect the car ride to be as long as it actually was. He stared out the window, fell asleep and listened to some music, because his friend refused to talk to him. Jisung had never seen him so serious, his eyes were focused on the road - as they should be - but his mind was somewhere else. Jisung could see through his eyes a kind of quiet pain that had no explanation; he didn't want to ask, he _wouldn't_ ask. He wanted to take it away, to ask what was wrong but he wasn't sure he wanted the answer. So he ignored him, just for a while, and looked out the window trying to figure out where they were going. The city turned into a countryside, and he lost his thoughts to the green of the grass and the grey of the sky.  
The car finally stopped, pulling over the side of the road. Chan turned off the engine. "There," he said, pointing at the end of the muddy road. Endless fields of empty fertile lands laid inhabited - it made Jisung feel like it was abandoned and he couldn't understand what he was doing there. Jisung got out of the car and walked alongside the wooden railings that lined the road, now shaking and trembling and twitching and he suddenly felt the cold wind hit his face, reminding him that it was still winter. He somehow thought winter was going to last forever, and that he was going to die of hipotermia before reaching his destination. But he got there, still standing. He felt as lonely as ever, even though his friend was waiting for him in the car. Before getting out he had told him, "I'll wait right here, I think you need to see this for yourself. I'll be here if you need me."  
A graveyard. Jisung was standing in front of the gates of a graveyard. It looked archaic and ancient, and it was poorly fenced. The smell of moss and decaying leaves surrounded him, forming an aura of forgetfulness, like the people who were buried there had been forgotten by society and excluded, _ghosts_. There were broken tombstones and overgrown trees, its roots knocking some of them over and lichen growing on several of them, eating the names completely; there was an oppressive feeling to it all.  
His hand trembled as he opened the gate, slowly creaking and sending chills through his spine. Rows of tombstones stood erect in silence to the left and right, in front and behind, like a sea of the dead. Some were crumbled with the weathering of centuries, some were smooth marble with new black writing and laid with floral tributes. Most though, were overgrown and unkempt, for now even their mourners had joined them under the soil. It sounded like the wind was whistling through the trees, and he could hear the disembodied voices of people who were buried there - their souls - whispering in his ear, but it was merely a low sound, and he couldn't clearly hear what they were trying to say - probably warning him, he thought. He made his way through the graveyard, slowly walking through the rows of tombstones until he reached the back of it. The newer gravestones, the shiny ones that stood out from the rest, hadn't been attacked by the moist and the roots of the trees and the lichen. He carefully read the engraved names on them, praying to every single god he didn't believe in that he wouldn't read a familiar name.  
But there it was.

He read the epigraph:  
_Lee Minho_  
_Born: 98.10.25_  
_Died:_

He couldn't bring himself to continue reading. It was not something he needed to remember: he would leave it forever erased.  
He suddenly forgot he was cold and that it was winter and that he was freezing. He forgot his surroundings and what had led him there. He forgot everything except Minho and him. He dropped to his knees, unable to feel anything anymore. He had absolutely nothing.  
Jisung couldn't breathe. He stared at the grave and at the tree curved onto Minho's grave, looking at it for the longest time - unable to look back at Minho's name. He couldn't feel anything besides the tears on his face and the mucus on his nose which he didn't even bother to sniff in. He cried and cried, sobbing and whimpering and screaming, but his screams would never be greater than his pain - that inexplicable pain in his chest which prevented him from breathing. He cursed, and cursed at everything, from the fucking graveyard to the fucking winter and his fucking feelings and he cursed at Minho for leaving him alone and breaking up with him. He cursed himself and moaned in pain, punching the ground with his clenched fists, as if it was going to change something. Of course it didn't.  
Unknown hands hugged him from behind into a warm embrace, and he found himself crying on Chan's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry Jisung," his friend repeated over and over, running his hand through Jisung's hair, trying to calm him down somehow. It didn't work, but it did warm Jisung a bit. After a couple of minutes - that felt like an eternity - he croaked, in between sobs, "Let's go."  
They walked hand in hand back to the car, Chan guiding him through the graveyard until they closed the gates. Once inside, Jisung had stopped sobbing: he had no more tears left to cry. He was drained, his eyes were puffy and red - tired of crying his whole heart out.  
"Where are we?" he barely managed to say, but the answer came to him right away: Minho's hometown. They were just outside Minho's birthplace.  
Chan knew by the way his friend's eyes drifted from side to side, forward and back, that he had the answer, so he didn't say anything.  
"Did you say goodbye?" Chan asked, breaking the mourning silence between them.  
Jisung shook his head, looking down. "I'll never say goodbye," he started but trailed off, thoughtful. He sighed, and continued, taking his time, "I know I'll see him again somewhere, even if it's only in my dreams. We'll meet in another life, and finish our love story like it's supposed to; us growing old together," he smiled through the pain of slurring those words out, "I'll wait until then, no goodbyes, just a painful holding on."  
Chan nodded quietly, but Jisung knew he didn't understand what he was going through, how he was feeling right now. He was a bit glad for that fact - he would hate Chan to go through what he was going through. No one deserved that kind of pain.  
"I just wish someone would've told me things would be different without him. He took everything away when he left, you know, not just my heart and my memories. He took away spring, winter, all the seasons, and the sun and its warmth. He took away the fire to light my heart."  
Chan rested his hand on his shoulder, as a way of moral support - he didn't know what else to do.  
He now remembered. Seeing Minho's grave triggered the most painful memory, the phone call at 3:09 am while he waited for a Minho that was never going to come through that door and into the apartment and kiss him again saying that he was sorry - the phone call he received while he waited for a boyfriend that he was never going to see again.  
The police officer had explained everything to him through the phone, and Jisung had been unable to reply back, his voice losing itself between the screams in his mind and the tears falling down his cheeks.  
"I became someone he hated," he admitted, and continued before giving Chan the chance to speak and interrupt him, saying that it was not true. "I changed so much, I don't even know why, _how._ He started looking at me differently. And then his feelings changed and everything was just _different_ between us. The love, the passion… whatever he had really, vanished and he couldn't find the me he had fallen in love with, he couldn't see him through my eyes. I was replaced by jealousy and anger anf disappointment. And he hated that, he always hated that.  
"I made him go away. I forced him to leave that night. I was unbearable and he couldn't take it. He went out the door and walked to the park where we had our first kiss, I _know_ he did, because I know him better than anyone. But he never got there.  
"If only I'd make him stay. If only I would have begged him not to leave, to cuddle with me and kiss me, he wouldn't have left in the middle of the night and he wouldn't have been ran over by those underaged drunks who took away his life so carelessly and fast. And they're not even the ones suffering! They're out there, walking through life like nothing's happened, like they didn't kill someone and ran away like cowards. They should be dead, not Minho.  
"That day I lied to him. I know I shouldn't have. I told him that I needed him. But the truth is, he needed me. And I failed to be there." He covered his face with his hands, trying to cry, because he felt like crying again - but he couldn't.  
"We were supposed to be immortal. We were supposed to be happy, to be _eternal_. How can I carry on without half of my heart?" he mumbled, his voice breaking.  
Chan nodded, turning the question into a rhetorical one. He wanted Jisung to free his thoughts, and Chan was pleased that Jisung was finally opening himself to someone, after struggling on his own.  
Jisung was not done yet, so he went on, "You know, the worst part is not that he's gone, it's that he left without saying goodbye. The worst part is that I never said I was sorry, and he died heartbroken and empty. And now I'm _empty_." As empty as he'll ever be, he said to himself.  
"In another life, he'll be him and I'll be me and we'll be us and nothing will change and nothing will stop us from being immortal together."  
"Jisung, I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do."  
He sighed, making eye contact like he didn't dare before. Chan could now see traces of pain in his eyes, cheeks, and everywhere in his face, in every single corner of it. A pain he was sure he couldn't take away. "I want to feel _warmer_."

Chan drove him home, and Jisung urged him to call Changbin and Felix so that he could talk to them because he needed that - he really and desperately _needed_ that right now. His parents weren't home, which didn't surprise him at all.  
Minutes later, the four of them were kneeling down in Jisung's room, in front of the box. As soon as Jisung removed the lid, they all gasped in unison. They were in front of Jisung's own secret, the one thing he kept to himself. It represented, in a way, the fact that he had Minho to himself but now he was showing him to his friends. It was time to let go.  
"This is it," Felix said, opening his eyes wider and wider, analysing the box more into detail.  
Jisung picked up one of the remaining polaroids and turned it around so that they could all see it. Their eyes quickly went from gleaming to grim: it was a picture of Minho's newly made grave, looking even shinier than it had looked today.  
"I decided to finish this journey through Memory Lane with you guys," he confessed, taking a better look at the picture. "It's the first time I'm seeing this picture." It had an inscription, just like the rest of them; _"The day I was forced to say goodbye… while I was not ready yet (year 5 month 11 day 11)"_  
Neither of them said anything, they just plainly looked at Jisung, who was the guide of the conversation.  
The picture had a neatly folded paper attached to it, which he carefully unstrappled as to not damage the polaroid. A speech, he read it aloud, hoping his voice wouldn't shake and that he wouldn't break down into tears.

 _The spirit of Lee Minho overshadows me today with the love he had for me and the love I have for him. We connect somewhere between here and Heaven. He came down, I guess, from Heaven to visit me today and give me strength to carry on, like he always has. I thank God for Lee Minho, and I hope he is taking great care of him. I love him with all my heart, I always have and always will, and I will always carry him with me, cherishing our time together._  
_He was such a huge part of my life… he was a simple man, very smart, really kind, and he knew he'd done something meaningful. He was very aware of that and very happy with what he accomplished in his unfortunately short life._  
_I failed to show him the support he needed. He was a keen, confident man, but he lacked self pride. He lacked bravery. But he didn't lack far more important things, like compassion, honesty, empathy, patience, love. His heart was always full of love, that is something I will remember about him forever._  
_He was one of a kind and he will be missed profoundly. Thank you._

He finished reading with a tear rolling down his face, but he wasn't the only one crying: Changbin comforted a quietly sobbing Felix and Chan was fighting the need to break down into tears. His funeral speech, _for Minho._  
"Did I deliver my speech?" he asked.  
"No," replied Changbin. "You left the ceremony before it was your turn."  
That was so him, he thought. Always so weak, always so selfish. Minho would have loved his speech.  
Jisung nodded, and wiped the single tear off his face with the back of his sleeve.  
"What's the next thing in the box?" a curious Changbin asked, looking straight into his friend's eyes.  
Another crumpled paper. This time Jisung knew it wasn't a fight, but a way of dealing with his grief, a way of accepting that Minho was gone.  
He uncrumpled it the best way he could, trying not to tear the paper apart. The lyrics were crossed out with a large, thick, red cross. Failed lyrics, he thought. He could still read what had been crossed out, his untidy handwriting messier than ever.

* * *

_Just wait right there,_  
_I'll be there and reach you someday._  
_Even if the clock's hands stop for a while,_  
_The flowers will definitely bloom someday._  
_In order to catch you,_  
_I've been expecting for 18 years_  
_That's why now you are mine._

* * *

"It's beautiful," Felix whispered, squeezing Changbin's hand gently. "They're very nice lyrics, Jisung."  
He knew. He remembered when he wrote the lyrics, that same night after Minho's funeral. He hadn't liked those lyrics to be the end of the song, he had felt that something was missing. Jisung hadn't been satisfied with them at all, so he had crossed them out.  
Not much happened after that, Jisung had refused to keep on showing them polaroids and memories because he had enough for today, and they hadn't complained. Changbin and Chan left his house to give him some space - but he had urged Felix to stay the night, give him some company, after all he was Jisung's best friend.  
"I'm right here," he said, smiling reassuringly. "I'm not going anywhere." And it was enough for Jisung to fall asleep, for once feeling that he wasn't as lonely as he thought and letting himself get the rest he hadn't been able to have lately. He was grateful he had Felix by his side, it made him feel as if thing's were okay. But they were really not. Minho was dead and Jisung felt it was his fault: he had a guilt he wasn't sure was going to fade away. His heart, his feelings, had perished.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: death, depression, cursing, underage driving, underage drinking  
> PS: i really tried writing a good description of the graveyard and Jisung's feelings towards finding out Minho died.  
> PPS: The next update is coming real soon, better watch out


	6. Solitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solitude: The state or situation of being alone; isolation, seclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LAST CHAPTER !!! writing this au has been a rollercoaster honestly, I'm lowkey glad it's over. i hope you're satisfied with the ending :)  
> thank u for sticking with me until the end, i appreciate it  
> ps: this chapter is so cheesy and cliché i'm so sorry (and the weather is so weird i'm like ???)  
> pps: it's v long (sorry about that) so i haven't spellchecked it yet, i will come back and correct my mistakes  
> I hope you guys like my open ending ;)  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS AT THE END OF THE CH

It rained all night, and they both woke up to the pleasing sound of the rain falling down, making a thunderstorm that broke the silence of the morning. Felix had to leave early, but he made sure Jisung ate something and didn't skip breakfast, the way he had been avoiding lately. He promised Jisung he would come back and see him again that day. Jisung had just nodded, believing his friend and his promise.  
He had woken up with the same feeling of emptiness and with the same pain in his chest, which he figured was never going to fade away - not as long as Minho wasn't by his side. He still had no tears inside of him, but he was sure he was bottling them up, patiently waiting to release them in his most vulnerable moment. The time, Jisung was convinced, was going to come eventually, and he was going to free them once again like he did yesterday. A painful holding on, he said to himself, that's all this was. But it tore his fucking heart apart, and even breathing hurt him and waking up without him had been the most painful thing about it all. His absence made Jisung feel that even breathing wasn't worth it, and his guilt consumed him deep inside. Jisung was unable to feel: Minho's death had snatched his whole heart away and he couldn't, and would never, accept the fact that he had lost the most important person in his life. Nothing mattered anymore, because he would have no one to share sunrises with, no one to share walks around the same park a thousand times without getting bored, no one to tell him how special he was - no one would have the same power Minho had to convince him anyways. He didn't feel human anymore, unlike the first time he picked up the polaroid and triggered the first memory.  
Felix had made a great job pushing him out of the bed, because without him he was sure he wouldn't have gotten out all day. There was only one thing, one little - almost non-existent - part of himself that was still able to push him up, to encourage him not to surrender and let himself fall deeper into grief. That part of himself was solely encouraged by the remaining polaroids. There were three of them left, and one last note right below the pictures. He had no clue what it said, but he was sure it wasn't a lyric.  
After eating breakfast alone, he went back to his room. It didn't feel like a bubble, like a hideaway anymore: he had been exposed to the cruelness of the world and the truth behind his reason why he got his memory erased. He now possessed the knowledge behind the polaroids and, even though he still had a few more memories to unlock, his mind was almost completely back to the way it was when Minho died 8 months ago.  
He kneeled in front the box once again, for the last time, and admired his position: he was almost back to his past self, to the way he used to be all those months back. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to remember how it felt the first time he found the box: his wonder, his amazement, his impatience. He smiled for the first time in a long while, and something inside of him eased off. He opened them again and sighed, tired. He picked up the polaroid and looked at it for a long time.  
A door. That faded brownish door at the end of the hallway, it had always represented safety to him. _His place in this world._ That door - and, for that matter, the apartment itself - had belonged to Minho. _Their_ apartment. They had spent countless times discussing over painting it over but they never did. He wondered if it remained the same. Probably not.  
The polaroid had no date, but he had the answer: he took the picture after moving out, a couple of weeks after the funeral. He had refused to leave because he was afraid of losing Minho's presence in his life - and the apartment felt like Minho's arms hugging him warmly - but he had been unable to afford it any longer, and therefore he was forced out. He had tried living with Chan and Changbin but it hadn't worked out, so he had surrendered to his parents and moved back with them, _like nothing had changed._ That's why, he figured, his clothes hadn't been in the same place as before, his mom had tried her best at making his room look the same way it had before he first moved with Minho, but he noticed. He noticed things weren't right.  
Jisung leaped forward and checked inside the box, jiggling it vigorously. There it was, just as he suspected: the key. It had hidden itself below the folded paper. He picked it up and examined the object in his hands, like some kind of treasure. A single silver key, the size of a poker card. He then remembered the struggle of opening the door, the end of the key a little bit more crooked than it should have been.  
His ringtone snapped him back to reality, making him blink a few times, confused. It was Chan. Jisung refused to answer his friend, changing his clothes instead. Once he was done, and he was fully changed out of his pijamas, he called his friend back, after sliding the key into his pants' front pocket. He sat on his bed, waiting to hear his friend's voice on the other side of the line.  
Chan came over to his place shortly after, concerned about Jisung's wellbeing. They sat on the kitchen table, Jisung offered his friend a drink which he refused. Neither of them said anything at first, Jisung decided not to tell him about the key, fearing his disapproval and a possible loss of his possession. But Chan could read Jisung's face very well - not like Felix - but he was still good at making his way through Jisung's mind, through his thoughts.  
"What have you learned from this?"  
Jisung frowned, unsure of what he meant. He discreetly patted his pocket below the table, feeling the key. He meant the box, the memories.  
"What I've learned?" He asked himself now, out loud. He looked out the window, feeling the sun shine over him, the rain gone. He couldn't see the rainbow from his position. "Life ain't a picture. People are not going to be always there, unlike a picture, a memory. The capture of a moment depends solely on you, not the camera. I took things for granted," he admitted, looking down at his now interlocked fingers. He rubbed his thumb gently on the palm of his hand.  
"If I wish life were a picture?" He asked himself again, out loud. "Sure, I could relive a single moment with Minho forever, on a never-ending loop, I'd like that to be my forever, even if nothing else happens. The presence of him and the atmosphere of it all would never be as disappointing as it is in real life… because there is no atmosphere and no Minho, I've got nothing, not anymore. Just a camera, a roll of pictures and an empty heart. I'm nothing."  
Chan reached out and grabbed his hands, softly rubbing them. Lately, he felt like he was failing his friend, he never knew what to say. He felt useless.  
Jisung looked at him, lifeless, and Chan swore he had never seen him so _vulnerable_ before. The pain in his eyes flooded the room, that was now grim and mournful. As if something inside of him clicked, Jisung freed himself from Chan's hands and broke the eye contact. He gazed at the dim sunlight coming from the window once more and sighed. He doubted if he could carry on with his life.  
_"Time waits for no one,"_ He softly whispered the words out, almost effortlessly. He was accepting a fact he had denied for a long time. "It didn't wait for me. It didn't wait for _Minho_."  
"The thing with time is, you can never rely on it. It is not a thing you can count on, _ever_. It will always move forward, and sometimes it will even leave you behind. It's selfish. You have to be careful," Chan said. "You either learn that the good way, or the bad way. You know that now more than anyone."  
He wished he could have treasured every moment together with Minho before it faded away, and he regretted the fact that he had walked away when Minho most needed him. He knew he couldn't manipulate time, stop it for just a while, but now more than ever he wished he could. Jisung longed to go back in time, not to prevent Minho from leaving, but freeze the moment right there, when their eyes met.  
"At the end of the day, I'll go back to being alone. I'll go back to everything I used to think I loved, but nothing will compare to Minho. Nothing will make that feeling of belonging and acceptance and home come back to me. At the end of the day, I'll disappear."  
"Time heals all wounds, no matter how deep."  
"Not these ones, Chan."

After eating lunch outside, in one of Jisung's favourite fast food restaurants - in which Chan paid, feeling as guilty as ever for not knowing how to help his friend - he took him to the park. They took advantage of the relatively good weather, as it had stopped raining, and they sat down in one of the empty fields, near the flower garden and a pond. Even though it was wet, neither of them were bothered by it.  
"You're doing well," Chan said, patting his friend's shoulder and letting a small smile slide out.  
Even if it looked like it from the outside - by the way he had avoided crying and having a breakdown and falling to his knees - Jisung was dead inside. His self was consumed slowly, from the day he came back home from the hospital until he found out about Minho's untimely death. His heart, if it was still there, was pitch black, and it would never regain its color again. It was a black hole; endless memories flowed through his brain like a hurricane.  
He plucked a dandelion that was sticking out of the grass all by itself and contemplated it for a while, and then he blew its petals away into the chilly winter breeze, without making a wish. The one wish he had would never come true, because people didn't have the ability to come back from the dead.  
"Do you know what I would do if I were in a field of dandelions? Do you know what I would wish for?"  
"To have him back?"  
"Wrong," he said, to Chan's surprise. "I would wish for him to know I'm sorry, for him to know I'm sorry I failed him, and that he deserved better. _So_ much better. Someone better than me."  
"Jisung, stop," he insisted, sitting up and lowering his tone. He could hear his voice shake a little, concerned.  
"Of course, the dandelions wouldn't make my wishes come true. I don't deserve that either."

He went home shortly after, Chan had another shift at work and it looked like the rain was going to fall down on them at any minute. His parents weren't home - which came as no surprise to him - so nothing got in the way of his plans of staying the rest of the day in bed. But something did stop him.  
The box. As soon as he opened his bedroom door, there it was, right where he had left it, in the center of his room, right on top of his blue rug. It was so light, unlike the first time he had picked it up. The last memory rested all by itself on the bottom of the now-almost empty box. He had divided the polaroids as he recovered his memories, leaving the ones he had yet to discover on the box and taking the pictures he had already seen, putting them on his drawer.  
He wasn't sure what to expect, Jisung was afraid of what the last memory would trigger. He had nothing else to lose though, he was sure there was nothing more heartbreaking than seeing Minho's grave in a picture. He had already lost Minho, what could be worse?

* * *

_The day I almost flew (year 6 month 1 day 3)_

I love feeling the warm touch of the sun all over my body, feeling how it expands through underneath my skin and boils my blood, thickens my veins. I feel like I'm glowing and that I'll become one with the sun, who hugs me kindly. I feel like I'm on fire.  
The balcony looks like an altar, its railings look like a throne, shiny and pristine and I bet it is warm too. I feel Minho in the room as well, looking at me with those peaceful eyes of him. I feel him under my skin, urging me and impatiently dragging me forwards, out the balcony and into the sky. I can barely keep my balance, standing on the throne.  
Tears are streaming down my face. I'm not sad, no, _no._ I'm just happy I'll be with Minho again. Yes, _yes, that's it._ Happy tears.  
I close my eyes, facing forward and letting my soul be evaporated by the rays of the sun, slowly feeling how the life slips away from my body. We'll be immortal again, Minho and me, nothing will get in our way of being together, like we are supposed to be. There is no Minho without me and there is no me without him.  
Without even opening my eyes or flinching an unknown hand, who is now holding my shirt firmly from behind, drags me all the way off the balcony into the living room and throws me to the couch carelessly.  
_Felix._  
Of all the people that could have come through the door and see me in such a situation, only the purest heart and the kindest smile had to see me try to take the pain away.  
I just destroyed that person. I just broke his heart.  
Felix's face is covered in tears, his eyes are red and puffy and he keeps on scratching the tears away. I can't see his freckles, his hands are covering his face completely now. I'm just staring at him, speechless - I'm afraid of what will happen next.  
A couple of eternal minutes go by until he is able to say something: I haven't moved at all. "Just what do you think you're doing?" He chokes out, slowly and softly, as if he doesn't want to say it. His mind is racing, "Are you insane?"  
He can't even stare at me, his eyes fixed on the ground, his hands shaking. I wish I could hug him, but knowing him, that would only make him cry more. I stand up and go for the door.  
"I'm sorry, Felix," I mutter, and I close the door behind me.

* * *

The memory was gone, and a part of himself was gone too.

And then there he was, curled up against the wall, his head on his knees, crying what was left of his heart. He couldn't bare to look at himself in the mirror, he was terrified of realizing that his past self was now entirely his present self. He had become the weakest self he had ever been, and he was ashamed - ashamed of not recognizing himself.  
His ringtone brought him out of his own pitiful, and sorrowful bubble that had inflicted self pain on him. He twitched as he picked his phone up, reluctant about answering the call. He was relieved by the name on the screen.  
Jisung answered the call, quiet, his arm still wrapped around his legs, hugging them closer to his chest.  
"I know I shouldn't have left you by yourself today. I know you need me, I'm sorry."  
Jisung felt like a failure. He wasn't suffering on his own, his pain made his friends suffer too which made him even angrier. He had gradually accumulated anger the same way Minho had, all those years ago. The only difference was, he hated no one else but himself.  
"Jisung, are you all right? Is something going on?" He knew his friend had heard his sob.  
He didn't reply.  
"Jisung? Answer me, please. I know you're there. I know you're listening to me."  
Still no reply. Jisung liked listening to his friend's voice, it soothed him and he stopped shaking. It made him feel like time had stopped, at least momentarily. The screams had dissolved; his mind was blank.  
"We've been friends for such a long time, you and me. Even before Changbin and Felix, it was the two of us. I-I don't know what I would do if something happened to you."  
Jisung broke down into quiet tears, remembering the first time they met. Back in primary school everything was easier, especially making friends. The way the Australian had approached him with his cute little dimples and his broken Korean had made something inside of him cling with him all afternoon, and thus their friendship was born. A friendship that, they both said that day, was going to last a lifetime.  
"I know I tried to kill myself."  
He sobbed hard now, and he wished he wouldn't had said it out loud, because it felt as if he was hurting himself, those words had been like poison in his mouth. But he knew he had to.  
Chan said nothing, but Jisung could hear his breath on the other side of the line.  
"Oh, so you know now."  
Silence. Jisung wiped the tears away with his sleeve, praying that they would stop falling.  
"Love is not worth dying for, Jisung."  
He frowned, even if his friend couldn't see his reaction. "How can you say that! You don't know how love feels like, Chan. You don't know what I went through, you couldn't possibly imagine."  
"You're right, I don't know what you went through. But _I do_ know what love feels like, in fact I had to give it up _for you_."  
Jisung leaned back, resting his head on the wall. He shook his head: he knew Chan regretted saying that, but it didn't matter because he did, and Jisung couldn't understand why.  
"What do you mean you gave it up for me? Who did you give up on?"  
Chan sighed, defeated. "Remember the guy I told you about? The one that came to the store where I work? His name is Kim Woojin." Jisung remembered him. Chan had told him, Changbin and Felix all about him, he had told Minho as well, before his death. He had described him as a charming person, with an aura of peacefulness and calmness, pretty much like Minho. He sounded like the right guy for Chan, who was anything but calm.  
"The day we were supposed to go on our first date, you tried to kill yourself. I figured, your wellbeing is more important than him, a thousand dates, and _love_ itself."  
"You have to call him back."  
"It's been months. I let him go."  
He insisted, refusing to let his friend close himself to the idea of love, a love he could have had if it weren't for him. "You can't do this, Chan. It's not _right_."  
Chan raised his voice. "I was sick worried about you that day. Felix called me crying saying that he saw you in Minho's apartment, trying to jump off the balcony. You disappeared, you had us all worried."  
"Where was I? Where did you find me?"  
"I didn't find you. Neither did Felix. Changbin did."  
"Where?"  
Chan hesitated, reluctant about answering. A few seconds went by in silence.  
"Minho's grave," he revealed softly, slurring the words out of his mouth like a curse.  
"What did we talk about?"  
"He never told me, and now your memory's gone."

He wanted to be by himself. He wanted to go somewhere where no one would bother him, where he could be alone with his thoughts. Chan had told him he would be coming over to check on him, but he hated the idea of being like an infection: everyone had to keep an eye on him. But then he remembered Minho, of how he never wanted to be alone when he was alive. Of how he was always there, not only in the good moments, but in the bad ones as well. He remembered their sleepless and their late night conversations in bed, their affection and the hugs Minho would give him after the fights with his parents, which always had an ability to strengthen him. He had been a very lucky person: they had had the luck of developing a beautiful love relationship only a few could relate to.  
So that feeling had inspired him to finish the song he had started all those years ago when Minho was alive, when they still were nothing more than friends. He sat down and wrote not more than five verses, but it was the end, and he was pleased. The song was finished in the most simple but meaningful way, the way Minho would have wanted.  
He collected all the lyrics and copied them down into one full song, from beginning to end. He decided to include the 'fake' ending that Felix had loved so much because, without it, the song wasn't complete. He also took with him the last polaroid left and placed it in his pocket, where the key was.  
He left his home with a determined mind and pockets stuffed with memories from the past. He went to the one place he knew he could unbottle what he was feeling, without being ashamed of himself, without hurting anyone else.  
Minho's grave. A wind of reminiscence hit his face, remembering how it felt the first time he opened the gates, his heart in his mouth. He took a deep breath and made his way through the decaying gravestones until he reached the one he was looking for. Jisung read the name a thousand times, as if a part of himself couldn't believe that he was really gone. He took the cap off the bottle of sadness and let it overflow all over his face, now crying like he hadn't dared the first time. Today, right now, he was feeling his emptiness more than ever. He could really feel like Minho wasn't really there anymore.  
He quickly slipped his shaky hand down his pocket and took out the song, which was now not more than a crumpled paper. Jisung broke down crying, kneeling on the ground just in front of the grave, hugging his song in his hands. It felt as if he was hugging a part of Minho, and he didn't want to let go. He had become attached to the idea that the song was his final goodbye, and that he had to accept the fact that he had to eventually move on, no matter how damaged and fragile he was now. No matter how open his wounds were, no matter if he would never heal again. Keeping him closer would only made him bleed more.  
He placed the song in front of his grave, looking at it with a teary smile. _I finished it just for you,_ he thought, tears still streaming down his cheeks like a river. A river that would never stop flowing. He knew Minho was proud of him, somewhere above up in the clouds, looking at him the way he always had, his eyes still gleaming, his smile still as peaceful as ever. Jisung wished he could see his face right now, he desperately needed to look at him like he had never before. He had taken for granted what being next to Minho had felt like. He heard someone approach him from behind, and he stood up, turning around.  
"I knew you'd be here."  
Jisung wiped the tears away with his sleeve. "What are you doing here, Changbin?"  
"Chan was worried about you, but he was at work. And then you kinda trailed off, and Felix was worried because he called your phone. What happened?"  
"I turned it off," he simply replied.  
Changbin nodded quietly, hands on his pockets. "Chan told me about your uh... little conversation you had today."  
"How did you find me that day, Changbin?"  
"You were by Minho's grave," he answered. "Just as you are right now."  
Jisung looked away, fighting the want to cry.  
"There's a slight difference," he added. "I can see you finished your song. That day you came here with an unfinished song, but looking at you now, that song is very well complete."  
"I'd never finished it."  
"I know," he said, taking a step forward. "You told me."  
Jisung stared back now, fear behind his eyes. "What happened that day?"  
Changbin took a deep breath. He took his hands off his pockets and attempted to hug him, but something inside of him prevented him from wrapping his arms around Jisung. Maybe it was just not the time. "You told me 'you don't understand Changbin, I have to finish it, _for him_.' But you never did because I came up with the memory eraser and you forgot all about him and the song and you were so happy. I felt like I did something good for you. You should've seen how vibrant you looked. Full of light."  
"I do appreciate what you did for me," Jisung said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I just can't continue like this anymore."  
"You know you can always go back and erase your memory again. It's pretty harmless and it'll do you good."  
"That's exactly what you said last time."  
He didn't say anything. Jisung didn't want to get his memory erased again. He thought he was losing himself, like his brain was deteriorating and dying, just like his heart had. He didn't want to lose both.  
"I don't want to see you sad."  
"I know," he blurted. He knew his friend cared for him, but he needed some time alone.  
Changbin hugged him, and for a couple of seconds he felt like crying on his shoulder but decided against it. He would bottle his tears in another jar and wait for the right moment to unbottle them to come.  
"Come on," he said, slowly breaking the hug and pushing him aside. "Let's get out of here. There's a place I want us to go together."

Changbin drove him to the beach. It was empty: apparently people didn't go to the beach in winter. The sun was peeking out over a cloud, and the sun rays were spreading all over the surface of the ocean. Minho would have loved this.  
He sat down on the sand next to Changbin, feeling the sand under his hands. He couldn't remember the last time he had been there, the last time he bathed in the ocean and felt the sand plastered all over his body, how much he hated that feeling. He took a deep breath, feeling the cold wind disheveling his hair and covering his eyes with it. This was the closest he had felt to being alive in the last two days. He then heard the screams in his mind again, and the peacefulness disappeared.  
He broke the loud silence between them. "Make them stop."  
"What?"  
"The screams in my head," he explained, opening his eyes and showing the sorrow in his eyes. "Make them stop, _please_ ," he begged, grabbing his head and closing his eyes again, as hard as he could. Tears were going to fall out of him in any minute.  
"I can't," he said. "But maybe this can." He patted Jisung's front pocket. The last memory. His most precious one. Jisung had forgotten all about it.  
"Whenever you're ready," Changbin whispered. Jisung knew he would never be ready to breathe Minho in for the last time, but it prevented him from moving on. That single piece of photography held his whole heart, the final piece of the puzzle, the final memory in the box, the last part of Minho.  
He slowly took it out of his pocket and read the date. Now or never, he thought, and turned the picture around. And then he dived right into his heart once more before it all faded away.

* * *

_The day we discovered our light (year 3 month 2 day 20)_

We are sitting down in front of the shore, our feet stretched a few feet from the water. The beach is empty except for another couple walking in our opposite direction: I guess people don't usually come to the beach in winter. It was Minho's idea, of course, and I couldn't turn it down. The sun is shining down on us, barely touching us from behind the few clouds in the almost clear sky. There's something about Minho, in the way he carries himself around, in his aura, that makes everything surrounding him peaceful. I wish this feeling of calmness could linger forever between us.  
I observe him once more before I lean backwards and let my head rest on the sand, carefully placing my polaroid camera next to me: he is gazing at the sea, his eyes focused on the way the waves crash onto the sand. I think he is admiring the colours of his view, of the beach: the paleness of them all, the absence of their brightness due to the absense of the radiant sun. It looks so much better in summer, or even in spring, because now it looks just dull. For me, at least. I know Minho doesn't think the same way I do, he never does: that's what I love about him. _Our differences._  
"There is light between us," he says, eyes still fixed on the sea. I look around, following the traces of the sun. The sky is almost completely grey. "There is light between the oceans that shape us as humans."  
"That's a weird metaphor," I blurt out in a chuckle. He smiles, but continues regardless of my senseless comment. His eyes are gleaming.  
"There is light between oceans. There is hope between our waves of love and compassion and mutual understanding. Right there, in the middle of the sea, in the heart of it, a new revolution is arising. Your raging waves versus my calm shore. It's just compatible yet completely different, two sides of a same ocean. There is light between us, a light that reflects love. That's us, right there," he softly finishes in a whisper, pointing at the thin almost imperceptible line between the sea and the sky. I follow his trace but I know I'll never look at the world with such wonder and amazement as him. He has a talent I could only dream of having: the talent of seeing always the good things, the beautiful things in life. I gaze at him, contemplating the look on his face once more before it's gone.  
A soothing silence fills the air between us, and shushes the screams of the sea. I sit up now, scribbling on the sand, my hands shaking as the fear paralyses me. I have to say it before it's too late. "You're right," I confess, looking down at the sand and what I drew in it: it's all meaningless. "I'm weak. I guess I've always been weak, I have just been too afraid to face it."  
"There's nothing wrong with that, you know," Minho says, looking at me. The cold breeze brushes his hair out of his eyes. "Even if you are weak, which I personally don't think you are, it's not something bad or something to be ashamed of. Diamonds don't shine, they reflect. Did you know that?"  
I shake my head.  
"We spend more time looking at our phones than we do staring at the sky, and that's plain awful."  
"It is," I agree, knowing that I'm one of those people. But Minho has tried to change me, to open my eyes to what's in front of me. I think I've failed him in a way.  
Before I can say anything else, he slips out of his mouth a few words that I can barely hear clearly. "I have a destructive side too, you know."  
Of course I know. _All people have anger_. But he doesn't wait for my reply: he stands up and runs into the icy water, waving at me to join him. I hesitate, overthinking about the consequences of getting into the cold sea in winter. I'll probably get sick but I don't care: I run to meet him. He holds himself against the waves with his arms outstretched, and laughs, closing his eyes and leaning his head back: he is taking it all in before winter disappears behind spring and we forget that, even though winter is the most deadly of the seasons, it is also the most beautiful. We splash each other, giggling and paddling around in the water but it all happens briefly. I know my mind will replay it over and over again as long as I remember what happened today.  
But he is not done. Minho runs out of the water and lets himself fall on the sand, exhausted. His pants are wet and his face is sweaty, and I can see small puffs of air coming out of his mouth. I shiver, looking at him from above. He smiles, pleased.  
"Come on, get up," I say, stretching out my arms for him to grab them.  
He looks at me perplexed. "What are we doing?" he says, grabbing my arms and standing up.  
I slip out a grin. "You'll see."  
Without letting go of his hand, I drag him a few feet away from the shore. "Look," I say, and I bend down, writing on the sand. He stares, blankly. I move a few steps back, admiring what I have just done. _"Jisung + Minho = a forever in the hands of time"_ can be read clearly on the sand.  
"You missed something," he reveals, kneeling down and adding a short fat heart next to it.  
"That's much better," I say, pulling him closer and gently pressing my lips against his. It doesn't last more than a few seconds, but once we stop, still a few inches from each other, he looks into my eyes.  
"Why don't you take a picture of this?" he proposes, taking a few steps back and admiring what we've done. I forgot I brought it along. I pick it up from where I left it and snap a picture, curving a smile. I snap a few pictures of Minho as well.  
"Take a picture of us," he says, softly. He doesn't say it twice: I wrap my arm around his shoulders and take the picture, our work of art behind us.  
We sit down again now, holding hands. "Remember Jisung," he whispers. "Even if you can't see me, I'm always there. I'm like the sun, like the moon, like the stars. Just because your eyes can't see me doesn't mean I'm not by your side."  
I nod, smiling. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

* * *

That picture took him back to the days where they had no arguments, no disagreements, no fights. Back to the days where they had the world at their feet, nothing but love in their hearts and internal peace. It took him back to their golden days, to the days their love was all there was for Jisung. Before they went their separate ways, before they changed, before their worlds broke apart and estranged themselves. Before Jisung lost his feeling of home and belonging and Minho lost the Jisung he had fallen in love with. Before they lost a love they had come to know.  
Falling for Minho had been easy: the way he carried himself around with such simplicity, his secretive eyes that had captivated him from the beginning, his hair, his sweet smiles, the idea of his soft lips against his own had made Jisung fall to his knees in love. It had sent goosebumps down his arms and spine. It had felt like magic, like little particles of pixie dust falling down on him slowly without him even realizing he was already flying.  
He threw the picture in front of him, and watched how the sand ate it up. Changbin looked away, trying to find the right words to say.  
"Look for the silver lining."  
"What if I don't want to?" he wept, hugging his legs closer to his chest, resting his head between his knees. He unbottled his sadness and his sorrow and his guilt, crying out an open wound.  
"Come on now," he said, picking up the picture. "Keep this."  
Jisung reached out for the picture, looking at it once more. Their selfie.  
"I'm trying to hold on to that part of me which is not heartbroken; the part of me that is glad I met him. That part of me, that tiny fraction of my heart will always remain pristine and untouched and golden. It won't break away or fall apart, wither. It will always remain a place where I can always come back to when I miss him too much, love him too much to let go. A place where I know I'm needed, where I can cry my heart out. A place where we are immortal," he finished in a whisper, unable to speak because of the tears streaming down his face like a waterfall.  
"You don't have to speak."  
He shook his head, wiping the tears away with his bare hands. "I have to before it's too late. Before I forget."  
"He will remain forever young in the pictures you took of him. He will live there, surrounded by the things and the people he loved the most. He will also live here," he said, pointing at his head. "He'll live in our memories."  
He put away the picture and took out a crumpled paper from his pocket. _The last lyrics_.  
"I see him in you," Changbin acknowledged, shyly. "I see his trace behind your eyes." In his euphoria, he had become convinced he would see Minho again someday, in another life. He squeezed the song in his hands, crumpling the paper in between his fingers. He opened it again:  
_I'll definitely catch you_ , he read  
And buried it deep in the sand.

When Changbin drove him back home, the sun was beginning to fall, and stars were lighting up one by one slowly. The sky had a beautiful shade of peach-orange mixed with a lavender-lilac color. Felix was already there waiting for him: He had kept his promise. He was so happy to see him, greeting Jisung with a big warm hug: Jisung was squeezed gently.  
"Your dad is not home, your mom opened the door for me," he informed. Jisung didn't care: he loved his friend, he really did, but he still needed some time alone.  
"Thanks for coming back," was all he said, and their small chat died right there. He still had a heavy feeling in his heart, like there were some things he still needed to do to feel free at least, to let go completely of Minho.  
They went to his room, his now wrecked bubble. He didn't feel safe inside his room any longer, because the box was empty. Or so he thought.  
They were lying on the floor, resting their heads on pillows. They had been chatting for a while about meaningless things such as what they did today, what they ate, until Felix brought the topic of the box. He had asked to see it, and Jisung had assumed it was empty.  
"You know, the box's not empty. There's something at the bottom."  
He immediately stood up and pounced at the box: lying at the bottom of it, there was a neatly folded paper.  
Jisung looked at Felix, who was staring back at him, perplexed. He twitched, a shiver running down his spine. _This is really the end_ , a thought ran through his mind. He picked it up like if it was made of glass, as if it was a fragile jewel and could break at any moment.  
"What is it?" Felix said, curiosity at the tip of his tongue. "Lemme see." He leaned forward, letting his eyes follow the messy handwriting:

_This is the end. You have to understand why I couldn't bring myself to burn these pictures, you have to understand that these precious memories kept us alive but are now the reason we want to destroy ourselves. You can do whatever you want with them, he's not ours to keep anyway. I know we'll make the right choice.  
PS: And Jisung, it's not our fault. It never was our fault._

Jisung knew exactly what he was going to do with the pictures: even if it ripped him apart, he was going to watch them burn slowly, painfully, he was going to free himself from chains of a dead lover and from a past that felt like an incurable burn. And he was sure that when the pictures were not more than ashes, he was going to feel free at last. So he did, he watched his past burn to the ground and the weight in his heart disappeared and he felt oddly alive. He could now breathe with ease, feeling his lungs fill themselves with a new kind of air. Jisung hadn't felt so good, so _light_ , in a long time.

The next day he woke up just before the sun was completely out: it had spread all over his bedroom, welcoming a new day. He picked up his camera and stuffed it into his backpack, and looked at Felix once more, who was sleeping peacefully next to his bed. He went out the door a bit before five a.m., making sure no one else was awake. Seoul looked beautifully cold bathed in a honey-yellow color, and he regretted having missed it all those years because of waking up late. As he walked down the chilly street towards the bus stop, he started counting his regrets: he was tired of every single one of them, of how they had the ability to pop up out of nowhere and never leave him alone. Lately, more of them had arisen and he couldn't deal with them anymore; he had enough.  
When he got out of the bus, a familiar feeling breathed inside of him: _he was coming home._  
Jisung scuttled inside, hiding from the sun and the icy-cold wind. He called the elevator and waited, impatiently. Once it arrived, he got in and pressed for the ninth floor.  
He got out and looked around: the residents were all asleep, as expected. He made his way through the corridor until he reached the door he was looking for, at the end of it. Jisung was surprised he remembered where it was, and was pleased when no one came for the door when he softly knocked on it. He took the key out of his pocket, trembling, and opened the door, which barely creaked.  
Once inside, he locked the door behind him, taking a deep breath. It looked exactly as he remembered it, he was surprised it was almost intact, apart from the fact that its original resident was no longer there and a few pieces of furniture were not there as well. He tossed the key into the dusty couch and let out a big sigh: he was _home._ He could feel Minho surrounding him like the four walls of the apartment, like he was hugging him cozily, cuddling him like many times before. The room was warm, and he stopped shivering.  
He went into the bedroom and stared at the sky, a beautiful warm sun welcoming him back. He stood still for a couple of seconds, eyes closed, head high, just breathing - _remembering._ His skin glowed in the sun and he felt lively. The light between them was still there as well, where it had first started gleaming. That beaming light still lived somewhere between the sea and the sky, between here and Heaven, between Jisung and Minho. It would never fade, it would feed itself of Jisung's memory, rising everytime he remembered him with a smile. Jisung still felt a ray of that light, that love, shining on him everywhere he went, like a shadow that followed him quietly, almost imperceptibly. But he could _always_ feel it. Like his heartbeat. Now, that light was shining on him like never before, and he could breathe their love in, he could feel their love all over inside of him.  
He picked up the camera from his backpack and opened their balcony door. He snapped a picture of the sun, how it shined on their city with warm colors: truly a beautiful sight. He grabbed the nearest pen and wrote on it, like a title: _I see you._  
He dropped the camera on the floor, carelessly. He wasn't going to need it again anyway. He threw the picture next to it and took a few steps forward, now completely outside the apartment, on the balcony.  
He looked back once more and looked at what was not there anymore; his eyes still remembered _their_ home. Their filthy couch, - now filthier than ever - their messy kitchen, their bubble. Their world. Jisung pictured it in his mind, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds.  
He stared at the door, a part of him believing that Minho was going to come through it the way he always used to - the other side knew he wouldn't. It didn't matter, really. Jisung knew he would see him soon.

 _Even if the clock's hands stop for a while_  
_The flowers will definitely bloom someday,_  
_A wavering fantasy,_  
_Even if that's only a mirage_  
_I'll definitely catch you._

He muttered the finished lyrics to himself, standing on the throne once more, the same way he had done months ago.  
He smiled, pleased: no one could stop him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: depression, cursing, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt  
> PS: why is this ch so long tho  
> PPS: I might come back and change a few things lol i feel like i kinda finished it in a hurry, not much is explained between the note and the next day i'm sorry.


	7. Denouement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denouement: The outcome of a situation, when something is decided or made clear; the resolution of a narrative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALTERNATIVE ENDING

Jisung wasn't healthy, he knew it. His mental state was weak but he had faith he was going to recover, the way people always do. He hated his medicine, but he knew he needed it. It was a painful journey for him, getting better.  
"You can do this," he whispered to himself every morning in front of the mirror. "You've got this." He tried to convince he was, at first failing to believe it but eventually embracing it and with every day that went by he felt more alive. Every day he found a new reason to live, to carry on with his scars and to make himself stronger. Every once and again he would remind himself that Minho was looking down at him, and that he should live to make him proud, the way he would have wanted. He had been in the darkness for far too long, the poison inside of him had been too great to bear any longer; so he fought against it, looking to find his light back.  
His heart on fire had burned out, and the only thing that remained were the ashes of a first love and a first heartbreak. Jisung knew that Minho was the only one who would make his heart lit on fire again, and with him gone, his heart was now replaced with a Pandora box no one knew how to open, a box no one had the key to. It had felt like magic, but he knew he couldn't have it. Not anymore. He never deserved it in the first place. He had been privileged all this time without knowing it. He truly was selfish and took things for granted -he didn't understand why it took him so long to figure out, why he had to lose Minho to learn what he really was.

It had already been a year since Minho's death, and he still missed him as much as the day he got the phone call. A wound that would never heal, a first love he would never forget.  
"I'll keep on living to make you proud. In the nights when I can't sleep, I remember you. I know you're listening to me. Moving on is hard but I'm doing this for you. For me. I hope you won't ever fade away, because I'm not ready to let you go completely. Just enough to carry on with my life. See you in the finish line," he said, placing a bouquet of the most radiant and scented flowers he had ever seen in front of his grave.  
He heard a loud, short honk and knew he had to go. He wiped the single tear off his face and walked away, making his way through the graveyard until he reached the car that was waiting for him.  
"I'm sorry Jisung, but the guys are waiting for us," Chan said, and started the engine as soon as he stepped inside and buckled up. Jisung nodded, and looked back once more, his eyes fixed on the gates of the cemetery until he could see them no more.  
It was a beautiful Sunday morning, and flowers were blooming, the sun shining down on them as they made their way back to their town.  
"You know, I had a dream yesterday."  
_I wake up on a desert, completely alone, sun shining so immensely I can't see anything. I cover my eyes and look up: clear skies. I start trudging through the sand, trying not to get too sucked down. I keep moving towards the horizon, and I suddenly catch a glimpse of a light far away from me, lying between the thin line dividing the sand from the sky. A mirage, I think. I move faster, quicker, throwing myself forward and moving towards the mirage but I know I'll never catch it: it's too far. No matter how hard I push myself to get there, I know I never will. It will keep on moving forward and forward, and the gap between us will get greater and greater. I give up, dehydrated, exhausted and sweating, letting myself get sucked down by the sand._  
"Doesn't sound like a very pleasant dream."  
Nothing was pleasant without Minho. "I haven't dreamed since he died."

The restaurant was full when they got there, a line of at least ten people waiting to be seated, but they made their way through the people and located the table where their friends were waiting for them. Jisung had never been there, and neither his friends: it was new, and Changbin had reserved a table for them.  
"Where have you guys been? You're practically late," Changbin said as soon as both Jisung and Chan sat down next to them.  
"What do you mean? Only you and Felix are here," Chan said. "Woojin and Hyunjin haven't arrived yet."  
Jisung had never heard that name before, and he was perplexed. An unpleasant feeling of anxiety ran though his stomach and he shivered, uncomfortable.  
"Who's that guy?" he questioned, intrigued. He hadn't been intrigued in a long time, and he somehow missed this feeling.  
"Felix's new dance partner. He's pretty good," Changbin explained.  
"And nice," added Felix, smiling.  
"You'll definitely like him," Chan concluded, patting his shoulder.  
A few minutes went by until the duo arrived. "I'm sorry we're late. There was a traffic jam," Woojin explained but Jisung barely heard him, his eyes were focused on the boy beside him. He was taller than him, black haired and something about the way he had walked to the table hiding behind the oldest had told him he was a bit shy. And cute, extremely cute.  
Something inside of him rebirthed and a familiar feeling boomed inside of him: _butterflies._ He never knew he could feel that way about anyone after he first felt it for Minho, and after what happened to him. Was this love at first sight? Jisung's internal puzzle had been completed once again, Hyunjin being his last missing piece, filling Minho's place. _No_ , he thought, _no one will replace Minho, ever._ He was right, but he had found a great substitute. Jisung knew deep down inside that Minho would always be his first and last. But it didn't hurt to fall in love again, and that's exactly what Jisung thought he did. He figured, he had a thing for dancers.  
"I'm on cloud nine," he muttered to himself, and flashed one of his beamy smiles at the boy who sat down next to him.  


_People tend to forget first loves. I don't. But I'll carry on without him. There's light between us, therefore I see…_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations! You just finished my au! I hope you liked it and suffered as much as I did. Writing this au broke my heart in many ways and helped me to expand my writing techniques and vocabulary - I hope it wasn't too confusing.  
>  Thank you for bearing with me throughout the updates, I know I haven't been the most consistent updater.  
>  There are a couple of facts about this au I want to share with you if you're interested/intrigued:  
>  1) This au had way too many rough title names, I just couldn't come up with one that summarized what the au was going to be about to perfection. They were: "I see… you," "I'll definitely catch you," "Stop the clock for a while" (thank you Lys and I'm sorry I didn't use it), "Where the wind blows," "Cloud Nine," "The Light Between Oceans," "Hearts on fire," "Let's follow the sun/Let me follow the sun," and "Time waits for no one."  
>  2) In the very first drafts of this au, the only characters that appeared were Jisung, Minho, Chan and Changbin (no Felix and no Woojin). As I thought Jisung needed someone soft and understanding outside 3Racha, I added Felix and I think it was the right choice.  
>  3) Originally, Jisung was not depressed and never tried to kill himself. As the au progressed and more memories arose I found it weird that Jisung was not sad about his whole situation. It then became a much darker au than I intended at the beginning.  
>  4) I decided to include an alternative ending for all of those people that didn't like the original ending and that think Jisung deserved a better/second chance at love.  
>  5) This au turned out to be longer than expected, I ended up adding way more memories for the reader to sympathize with Minho and to understand how their relationship worked. I hope it wasn't too boring.  
>  6) At first I was a bit worried that the change between memories and the present would be confusing, as the memories are written in the present and the present is written in the past. I decided to leave it this way to achieve a nice effect, and I'm actually really satisfied with how it ended up working.  
>  7) The hardest part to write was their last fight, I rewrote it several times because I was just not convinced. I hope you are satisfied because I certainly am.  
>  8) You're probably wondering which memory I wrote first: it was the day the sea hugged us (it's also one of the longest and one of my favourite ones). Then I started filling the gaps.  
>  Thank you all for giving it a try and reading it, I put a lot of time and effort into it and I'm so proud of how it turned out. This is the first time I write an au like this, and I hope it didn't suck too much. I hope that in the future, if I come up with another au idea you guys will be there for me. I love you, I'm forever grateful. Until next time!  
>  PS: you can find me [here](https://curiouscat.me/180325) :)

**Author's Note:**

> a really cool person on twitter wrote a collection of poems out of the chapter names in this au and they're really great!!! i'll leave the link if you wanna check them out!  
> [The Light Between Us](https://hellopoetry.com/collection/29375/the-light-between-us/)


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